


Every Colour But Red

by HLine



Series: Children of the Force [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-01-25 23:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 116,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12543424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HLine/pseuds/HLine
Summary: Saving the children was only the first step. Now they have to take care of them.  And unfortunately for the crew of the Ghost and the larger Resistance, that means facing the demons of the past.The Republic left many broken and battered in the trail of its collapse, and healing is a painful task. Admitting that the injuries are even there?Well. That's just agony.





	1. You Want Us To Go Where?!

“Mandalore. You want us to go to Mandalore.”

Ahsoka met Kanan’s incredulous stare with serenity. “No, not Mandalore. Its moon, Concordia.”

Kanan snorted. “Oh, because that makes such a difference. The amount of Imperials crawling around in that system -”

Hera placed a hand on his. Looking at her, Kanan saw the same calm certainty that Ahsoka had met them with. 

“Why do you need us on Concordia?” she asked, her tone matching her face. “Kanan has a point; Mandalore and its moon have been crawling with Imperials ever since the purge. Going in there will be dangerous if you’re looking for information, and we have responsibilities to Ezra and the Resistance now.”

Her cup of tea was still steaming as Ahsoka drummed her fingers. “I’m well aware of the situation in the Mandalore system, I assure you. However, I’m not asking you to collect information.”

“Then what are you looking for?”

Ahsoka shot him an annoyed look that he refused to crumple in front of. He had a right to have these questions answered. “Medical supplies. I’m sure with how much you’ve been hanging around the base’s medbay that you’re aware of how many of the children are still waiting for replacement limbs.”

Kanan leaned back in his chair and gritted his teeth.

Seemingly satisfied, Ahsoka turned back to Hera. “Replacement limbs for adults are one thing - for children who are still growing is another thing entirely. The Empire has a monopoly on most of that technology, so the Resistance asked me to use my contacts to gather what they needed. I agreed, and my contacts pulled through. However,” and she held up a hand to forestall any questions, “finding them was only half of the battle. Getting them out of the Empire is another thing entirely.” Putting her hand back down, she twined her fingers around her mug and took a sip of the tea. “These are strictly-tracked items. It took calling in a lot of favours to get them as close as Concordia.”

“And now you need someone for that last jump.” Hera looked thoughtful. “That still doesn’t answer why you want us in particular, though.”

“Honestly? It’s a mix of two factors.” Ahsoka took another sip, and Kanan had to resist the urge to drum his own fingers in impatience. “One, you are legitimately one of the best teams I have.”

Kanan privately was a little surprised at that confession. They were good, sure, but one of the best?

“Secondly - the main Mandalore system was hard to get into even before the Purge. Out of everyone I have, you were the only ones that managed to penetrate their blockades before.”

“And you want a repeat performance.”

Hera shot him a look and Kanan knew that he’d be paying for that comment later. Well, he’d pay gladly. Leaning forward, he rested his crossed arms on the table. “We aren’t the same team as before, though. Now we have two kids, one of who has already suffered due to the Mandalorian Imperials, and another that’s my padawan. Going to someplace as dangerous as Mandalorian space while I have responsibilities to them is not something that I’m comfortable with.”

“There’s nothing to say that we have to take either of them along with us.”

“There’s that,” Ahsoka said, tilting her head in Hera’s direction. “Although I would say that having someone with direct experience in Mandalorian culture might be handy.”

Pulling out a few datacards from her belt, she passed them over. “If you do choose to take this mission, your cover would be bringing in supplies for a culture festival that’s being held on the moon.” Her eyes flicked over to Kanan. “It would be a quick in and out.”

Grumbling, Kanan took the cards and looked at them like they’d reveal their contents to him without a datapad. “Still doesn’t take care of the Imperial presence.”

“I know that you’re worried about them, but they are less of a threat than you think,” Ahsoka said. “The same spies who got us these medical supplies have also been reporting a lessening of Imperial presence on Mandalore and its moon in the past year.” She smiled sardonically. “It seems that Viceroy Saxon has things well in hand, in their eyes.”

“So rather than normal Imperials, we’ll have to deal with Mandalorian Imperials,” Kanan said sourly. He was not going to be soothed by all these airy comments. “That just makes me feel so much better.”

“Kanan.” Hera’s tone was a warning, and he settled back in his seat. She turned back to Ahsoka. “Thank you, Ahsoka,” she said smoothly, “but before we agree to anything I think it would be best if we discussed this with the whole crew.” 

“Of course.” Ahsoka was graceful as she got up from the table. “I only ask that you let me know by tonight.”

“We will,” Hera replied before Kanan could open his mouth. “Let me show you the way out.”

And with that, Ahsoka was gone, leaving only a half-full cup of still-steaming tea and some data-cards. 

Kanan stared down at his own cup of tea grimly. He did not want to do this. Not with how things were now.

Hera re-entered the room, pausing in the doorway. “Kanan,” she said.

“I know, I know,” he grumbled, lifting his mug to his lips. “We’ve been base-bound for six months, we’re fighting in a war, etcetera etcetera.”

He felt more than saw Hera rolling her eyes as she crossed the room to sit back down beside him. “Zeb’s been getting antsy. And I’ve been talking with Commander Sato and some others in the Resistance. This sounds like the perfect mission after a long rest.”

Kanan grumbled. “Maybe to you. I’m not so sure. Would Sabine take it well? And what would we do with Ezra, he’s my responsibility and I won’t abandon him here.”

Yeah, Hera was rolling her eyes again. “Well, there’s nothing to say that you have to come -”

“And abandon you instead?”

“I’m a big girl, Kanan. I can take care of myself.”

Kanan growled and rubbed his face. “I just - they’re kids, you know? Taking risks like this is not something I’m a fan of.”

Hera sighed. “Taking risks is what we do, Kanan,” she said gently. “It’s a part of being alive, of fighting against the Empire. Besides, you know that we need these medical supplies.”

Yeah, he did know. He looked back down at his drink. “I’m still not comfortable with this.”

“We can always leave them behind,” Hera reminded him. “Janus and Grey got back from their own run a few days ago and you know that they love those two.” She grinned. “Even if Janus won’t admit it.”

He couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. Janus was constantly groaning and sighing whenever Ezra or Sabine visited, but he’d come by too often with some sort of treat that he ‘just happened to have’ for anyone to believe that his complaints were real. 

Gently, Hera took his hand. “Listen,” she said quietly. “I meant what I said to Ahsoka. We’ll talk with the others before we agree to anything.”

Kanan sighed and squeezed her hand back. “I know,” he said quietly. “I just hope that this is the right thing to do.”

* * *

Ezra finished the little dance that he’d been doing with a flourish, displaying the shiny metal of his still-new leg to the others’ eyes. “Tada!” he sang.

The others politely clapped, even as they laughed.

“That was some fancy footwork,” Jai, sitting on one of the medbay’s beds said with a grin. “Are you going to pass around a hat for credits, now?”

“Well, I don’t have a hat,” Ezra replied, “but I do have a boot if that will do.”

That set off another round of laughter, filling the medbay. Six months from the raid on Dromund Kaas, it was pretty much entirely empty except for the most badly injured, and even those were mostly awake and grinning along with the rest of them. 

Mostly awake. Like for the past six months, Ezra’s eyes were drawn towards the large bacta tanks that lined the back wall, blue and empty except for one. The boy floating in the last one to the left had been there when he had first started limping out of the room he’d been put in for recovery and was still there now, his eyes closed and red hair floating around his head. 

At least the large wound that had nearly bisected him was mostly scar now. Still, seeing someone so close to his age hurt like that was uncomfortable. The large red eyes of the blue-skinned girl sitting by his tank were also uncomfortable.

A jealous sigh brought his attention back to the group that he was visiting. “You okay, Dhara?” he asked, looking at the dark-skinned girl. 

Dhara, her tightly-coiled hair pulled back from her face, looked up from where she was staring at his leg and flushed. “Sorry, it’s nothing.”

But Ezra could see the jealousy on her face, no matter how she tried to hide it. Abruptly, he felt embarrassed. He’d come down here, all pleased that he was finally able to easily move around on his leg after four full months of hard work, and all he’d managed to do was rub actually having a replacement limb in everyone’s face. Looking down at his feet, he shuffled in place. “I’m sure that they’re working on getting everyone else -”

A sharp clap interrupted his apology. Turning around, he saw Doctor Nema standing there in her usual diamond-shaped headdress, looking at them solemnly. “Pardon my interruption, younglings, but I’m afraid that if you’re done with your fun…”

Abruptly, everyone seemed to remember that they were in a medbay. Sheepishly, they slid off of the beds that they had been sitting on and began to head towards the door.

Turning towards Nema, Ezra smiled sheepishly. “Sorry Doctor Nema,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck, “I just got a little excited and everywhere else was busy, and this place was quiet -”

“For a reason,” Nema said, but while her voice was stern her eyes were soft. “I understand your excitement, Bridger. You’ve worked very hard for this. But this is supposed to be a place for healing, not parties.”

Ezra looked away and kicked at the ground. Above him, Nema sighed. Placing a hand on his back, she began to guide him towards the door. “I know that there are not many places for you and friends to play,” she said. “And I appreciate that after everything they’ve gone through at the hands of the Inquisitorius they’re comfortable in the medbay. But we have to keep the other patients’ comfort in mind.”

They reached the doorway and she paused, nudging him outside. “I believe that the mess hall is currently between shifts, if you and your friends are not done,” she said kindly. 

“Thanks Doctor Nema,” Ezra said, turning around. But the doors to the medbay were already closed.

Ezra sighed and kicked the ground again. He hadn’t meant to cause trouble…

“You dance well.”

Ezra jumped and whirled around. “Who -”

There was a boy standing awkwardly just a few feet away, his arms and hands held stiff at his sides. He was staring at Ezra with eyes that were just a little too wide. 

Ezra knew that his eyes were wide as well. People usually weren’t able to sneak up on him like that. “Um. Hi. Not sure I’ve seen you around before.”

The boy’s eyes flicked to one side for a moment before coming back to Ezra, unsettlingly focused. “I was - in the tower with Master Unduli.”

Oh. Ohhh. Ezra had heard the story of that tower from Jai - and since Jai and one other had been the only survivors, then that meant that -

“My name is Galen.” The boy’s arms were still and stiff at his sides. “Galen Marek. I’m supposed to see Knight Taa for treatment. She's not on the _Will of the Whills_.” His eyes darted away again, and back again. “Have you seen her?”

“Uh…” Ezra tried to stall, thinking furiously. Jai hadn’t been shy about what had happened in that tower during the raid, and had warned them about the other kid. Starkiller, the Inquisitors had called him. Smashing through the other children like a speeder, leaving broken bones and blood behind him - the stories didn’t exactly make Ezra eager to spend time with him. And he wasn’t sure that he remembered a Knight Taa…

Wait, no. He did remember a Jedi with that name! A female Mikkian with a scarred face, who looked down at them like they were crud to be scraped off of her boots. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen her lately,” Ezra said slowly, looking at the kid across from him. “She’s the Mikkian Jedi with the scarred face, right?”

Galen nodded. “She’s healing me. From the Dark Side.”

Her? A healer? Ezra struggled to keep the skepticism from his face. From what he’d seen, that lady had all the comforting nature of a prickle-bush. He’d have thought that that sort of healing would be more the purview of someone like Doctor Nema. “Well, whatever she’s doing, I haven’t seen her. Maybe you should ask Doctor Nema, if Knight Taa is healing you. In the meantime, though, I should get going -”

“With the others. The other kids.”

Ezra had been half-turned when something in that tone made him stop. Carefully, he turned back towards Galen. “Jealous?”

The boy stared at him for a moment. Then his eyes darted around again, in what seemed to be a tic for him. “The others -” he began quietly, seeming to stumble over his words. “They don’t seem to like me.”

Ezra wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. It was true; Jai’s story had made all of them pretty wary of the kid. But now, actually speaking to him was making Ezra feel, well, kind of bad. The way the kid spoke, slow and halting like he wasn’t used to it, the way he was never quite looking him in the eye, it reminded Ezra too much of how he’d been after a few months in the Seventh Sister’s care. How would he have been, if Kanan and the others hadn’t taken him in? Would he have ended up like this? He’d been able to hold it together most of the time, but even in as short a time as it took for him to convince Hera to give him a chance he’d felt like he was walking on rusty walkways, close to breaking underneath his feet.

Reaching up, he scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Well, I mean, you kind of just lurk around the edges of everything. Maybe if you introduced yourself properly -”

“Youngling.”

The chilly voice cut through everything that Ezra was about to say. Ice shooting down his spine, Ezra whipped his head around to face the speaker.

A female Mikkian, her face marred by a twisted gnarl of scar tissue that took up most of one cheek, stared down at him coldly. Her hands folded into the sleeves of her long brown robes and a scratched lightsaber hanging from her side, she looked the part of the perfect Jedi Knight.

“Knight Taa,” Ezra said, cursing how high his voice sounded.

Taa’s eyes moved slightly and he abruptly realized that she hadn’t been looking at him at all; her eyes had been glaring instead at Galen. “Bridger. For what reason are you here?”

“Uh, reason? Reason, right, a reason. For visiting the medbay. Right.”

Taa raised an eyebrow.

Nervously, Ezra scratched at the back of his neck. “Well, you see, I got my new leg a while ago, and I’ve been working really hard to get used to it and I wanted to show the others -”

Taa rolled her eyes. “I don’t actually care,” she bit out. 

Ezra snapped his mouth shut with a click.

Taking a step closer, she loomed over him, her eyes shifting from cold to downright frigid. “My question, youngling, was rhetorical. I was attempting to subtly inform you that you should not linger here. Since you apparently do not understand such subtle conversational techniques, I will now tell you outright.” She was very, very tall, and her head-fronds tapered to sharp points that reminded him of knives. “A medbay is not a playground. It is not a place where you should show off your new leg, or babble on as you seem to enjoy doing. It is a place for rest and healing. And since you are apparently feeling so very good, it is not a place for you. Am I understood?”

Ezra swallowed. “…Understood,” he mumbled in a very small voice.

Taa kept him pinned by her gaze for a few seconds longer. Finally, though, they left him and she swept past him towards Galen, stopping in front of him. “Child. I have a meeting, so we will not be having our usual session today.”

“Yes, Master. What should I do instead?”

“Meditate. Work on what I showed you.”

“Yes Master.”

Ezra risked a peek over his shoulder. Galen’s shoulders were rounded and he was hunched over as he walked off. Ezra almost called out after him but kept quiet at the icy silence that was radiating from Knight Taa.

It was only once the door whooshed shut behind her that he let out the breath he’d been holding. Reaching up, he placed a hand over his chest. He would have sworn that he could feel his heart thundering below his ribs.

Most of the Jedi that he’d met after the raid had been very kind to him and the others. Coming in a variety of shapes and species, even the most dour-looking ones could usually spare a smile during their wandering through Yavin Base. Knight Taa and her friends, however, were the exception. Hard-faced and cold-eyed, they always gave off an air of barely-repressed disapproval whenever they saw one of the other former prisoners. 

Ezra had asked, after the first time that he’d met the knight, if Taa hated him. Kanan had looked at him in surprise at that, and said that he hadn’t picked up anything like that from Taa, making Ezra wonder if he was crazy. 

After a few more times, though, Ezra knew that there was no way he was just imagining things. Maybe it was just due to his particular talent, but he always steered clear whenever he felt someone like that coming. No one else seemed to feel anything other than Jedi serenity from her though, so he never really mentioned it outside of the crew. 

Once his heart rate had settled, Ezra began to walk away again from the medbay, unable to resist tossing a nervous look over his shoulder. He didn’t feel much like dancing for the other kids again. Maybe Kanan would be okay with starting training a little early today. After all that, he really wanted the warmth and comfort of his family.

* * *

Fenn Rau sat in a chair outside of the Viceroy’s office and breathed as he waited. _In and out, count to seven each time, and let calm replace your rage. Enter a battle angry and you’ve already lost it._

His mother’s words echoed through his head, measured and steady as the best clan leader’s always was. He had lived his life trying to live up to the example she had set, but sometimes, and especially recently, he felt like it was a losing battle. 

Steady. Steady. _Enter a battle angry and you’ve already lost it._

There was a mural across from him. He focused on it, pushing his bile down. It was of the old Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders, of course. In the traditional, geometric style, of course, nothing like the overlapping angles of the New Mandalorians that had been overthrown -

No. No. Steady. He couldn’t go into this angry.

Getting up from his seat, Fenn paced towards the massive set of floor to ceiling windows and stared out of them. The inoffensive cityscape of Concordia’s largest city met his eyes, its buildings nestled in the embrace of the rocky mountains surrounding it, their angular lines reaching up to the orange and red sky of the early morning. There were already a few speeders out, flicking around towers speckled with yellow lights as people began to get ready for the day. The shadow of the mountain compound that the city was nestled against, the ancient seat of House Viszla, would not cover the city until the afternoon. A peaceful scene, marred only by the fat block of the building that he was currently in. 

His lip curled. Gar Saxon and his followers may claim to be the restorers of traditional Mandalorian culture, but anyone with a lick of sense knew that the building they headquartered in showed who their real masters were, just as surely as the Imperial crests on their shoulders. 

_Oh, and you’re so different?_

His mood darkened even further, his hand drifting up to brush his shoulder that was also covered by an Imperial crest. The little voice of honesty that lived in the back of his head was as cold and pointed as a spear, pricking against his conscience in a way that he couldn’t ignore. It would not let him forget that for all he scorned House Viszla’s Supercommandoes, they had not been the only to bow down without a fight. 

_That was different_ , he tried to tell himself. _I bowed to protect my people; Saxon crawled into their lap for a title._

But his honesty wouldn’t let him rest. Had not the other clans bowed along with him for safety? Had they not all bowed during the Great Purge where Saxon had climbed to power, looked away in cowardice as their people were slaughtered? 

His heart squeezed at the memories of that time. Sitting in the Duchess’ old throne room in Sundari on Mandalore, the glass walls not hiding any of what was going on outside. It had been an incongruously sunny day, the shadow of the Grand Inquisitor’s star destroyer covering the other half of the city. The glass and metal that made up the city had been gleaming in the sunlight. And yet even as he had looked out the windows he had been able to see how the buildings were marred by streaks of blood from supposed insurgents, the crack of blaster rifles ringing through the air. All of the Heads of Houses had been called their from their seats of power by the Empire, filling the twelve chairs in front of an empty throne, their guards and most trusted allies beside them - and yet the room had been silent.

Only one person had had the courage to speak out that day. One person, an Imperial cadet of all people, had spoken of how this violence was wrong, that Mandalorians should not be killing Mandalorians!

And not a single person had supported her.

The shame still made his stomach twist at the memory, so much that he was almost happy to hear Saxon’s voice.

“Oh, Rau. Is it already time for your monthly begging?”

Almost.

Clenching his teeth, Fenn smoothed his expression and turned to face the other man. “Viceroy Saxon. Glad to see that you didn’t get lost on your way here.”

Dressed in his dirty, battered armour like he expected to rush into battle at any moment, Saxon stared at him with the ghost of a smirk haunting the corners of his mouth. One hand was occupied by a datapad, with the other holding his helmet underneath his arm. Lazily, he gestured with the datapad to the two supercommandoes following behind him. “Get a caf, you two. This won’t take long.”

Fenn clenched his jaw just a little harder.

The two armoured people bowed their heads in acknowledgment, turning on their heels and marching away. Fenn watched them go, feeling a little insulted by how the Viceroy apparently didn’t think he was a threat. 

“Well, Rau? Do you want to do this out here or would you prefer the privacy of my office?”

There was still that irritating ghost of a smirk around Saxon’s mouth. Fenn wanted to punch it right off. He didn’t though. He needed the Imperial Viceroy’s permission for what he wanted, and he wasn’t about to risk it now. Not when he was so close.

“Your office, please.”

The inside of Saxon’s office was exactly what Fenn expected from the man. Bare except for a desk and chair, with a tauntingly large window behind it showing another view of the city. For a moment, Fenn allowed himself the fantasy of a sniper bolt going through the window and the man’s head while he was working; only for a moment, though. The sheen of the material showed that it was transparisteel rather than just glass, making the fantasy impossible, no matter how sweet it was.

The walls of the room were equally bare. A plain, slightly off-white shade of paint covered the walls except for a large red banner hanging from one with the Imperial crest stamped on it in black.

It was honestly the most boring and depressing room Fenn had ever entered. And he had been in a lot of Imperial bases.

Saxon took the only chair, of course, leaving Fenn to stand in front of his desk like a student to be punished. Placing his datapad on his desk, he leaned back and folded his hands over his stomach. “Alright then. Let’s get this over with.”

Fenn unclenched his jaw and folded his hands behind his back. He could get through this. He could. “I want permission to access Imperial records on Mandalore.”

Saxon hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t say anything. His eyes were cold and glittered like shrapnel from an exploded Kom’rk fighter.

“My nephew, Aji Rau, was last seen at his classes at the Academy there.”

Another thoughtful hum. 

Fenn squeezed the hand behind his back into a fist. Why did this asshole make him do this every time? Hell, why did he keep doing this at all? It had been a year and a half since he’d seen his last remaining relative, in all likelihood the boy was nothing more than a rotted skeleton -

Calm. He needed to be calm. Until there was a body, there was no proof. His nephew could still be alive. There was still a possibility that he was not the last member of Clan Rau.

“Considering how tight security is on Mandalore, that makes your records the best place to start looking for him -”

Saxon raised a hand. Fenn shut his mouth with a click. 

“You know,” the man said conversationally, “it’s funny that you keep going on about this. You were informed that, oh, what was him name again? Aji?” The gleam of amusement in his eye let Fenn know that he damn well was aware of what the kid’s name was. “Aji ran away from the Academy -”

Fenn couldn’t keep himself from slamming his fist down on the desk. “STOP LYING!”

The door shrieked open to a chorus of clicks behind him. Primed blasters, no doubt, but Fenn ignored them as blood pounded in his ears. This shabuir, sitting there and smirking - he wanted to rip his face off. Splinters were digging into the flesh underneath his nails and he could taste blood in his mouth.

Leaning over the desk into Saxon’s space, he pinned the man with his gaze. “It’s been a year and a half. Run away or no, he would have come home by now!”

Saxon raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a liar, Rau?”

The words were like a splash of cold water on his face. Abruptly, Fenn was aware of the low sub-sonic whine of charged blasters behind him. Saxon’s smirk widened into a smile and Fenn knew that he had seen the realization cross Fenn’s face.

He ground his teeth together for one heartbeat before straightening up slowly. Behind him, he could hear Saxon’s minions shifting there positions, undoubtedly keeping their blasters trained on him.

Fenn breathed in deeply through his nose and let it out. He had probably torpedoed his chance already with that outburst, but he had to keep moving forward. “My apologies,” he said through gritted teeth. “I did not mean to imply something like that. I’m simply saying that I believe whoever told you that was mistaken, and that I’d like to make my own investigation into the matter.”

Saxon hummed mock-thoughtfully again. “Well, unfortunately, I’m afraid that I’m going to have to deny your request at this time -”

_Liar_ , Fenn thought sourly as he started to taste blood again, _you’re enjoying every minute of this._

“- due to the festival and meeting happening this week.” His eyes were cold and mocking as he looked at Fenn, daring him to protest again. “You understand, I hope? Co-ordinating a meeting between all the houses on top of a cultural festival is not a simple thing, I’m afraid.”

His jaw was aching from holding back his rage, but he knew that this was not a fight he could win anymore. He had lost it the moment he had raised his voice.

“Of course,” he said through gritted teeth. 

The slow, satisfied smile that spread across Saxon’s jaw made Fenn want to punch him. “Thank you for your understanding,” he said, sitting back in his chair. Raising his hand, he made a lazy, dismissive gesture. “My people will see you out.”

The heavy hands that clapped onto his shoulders made it clear that the statement was not a suggestion. Squeezing his hands into fists, Fenn allowed himself to be turned around and begin to be marched from the room.

“Oh, and Rau?”

Fenn’s footsteps stuttered and he looked back over his shoulder.

Saxon had completely thrown all subtlety to the winds, grinning at him. “Enjoy the festival.”


	2. Mulling It Over

Rig sighed as the doors whooshed shut behind Bridger. She hadn’t wanted to do that, but this was a working medbay, not a playroom, and she needed to be able to talk to her patients without constantly asking them to repeat themselves. 

Speaking of which…

Turning on her heel, she began to sedately head towards the bacta tanks that lined the back of the long, narrow room. Most of them were empty, but one was currently occupied by a young male human, his shaggy red-blond hair swaying gently as the tank cycled the bacta to promote better healing. His pale, freckled skin had a bluish cast in the tank, smooth and unbroken except for the long, purple scar that neatly bisected him across his thin waist.

It had taken six months to get the scar down to just that. Six months of surgeries and regular bacta treatments, and the scar was still the most noticeable mark on the Aji Rau’s skin.

Near disembowlings were such a pain; even more so when the person kept tearing themselves back open by moving too suddenly. 

Sitting in front of the tank in a small chair was the boy’s companion. A young female humanoid with blue skin and red eyes, Tharassa (Rig had never been able to get more from the girl) was a quiet child, not speaking even when spoken to. She did not interact with the other children, either, seeming content with sitting by Aji’s bed and tank as he went through his treatments. Rig suspected that that had much to do with her seeming inability to speak Basic and unfamiliarity with many common galactic technologies, but the seeming lack of even interest was still unusual. In fact, the only thing the girl had ever seemed to show interest in was the rust-red blanket she had wrapped around her like a shawl. Not for the first time, she wished that she had been able to find the girl’s species in their database. 

She gently placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Would you like to help me get Aji out of the tank, Tharassa?”

The girl did not jump underneath her hand. She merely turned her head and pinned Rig in place with a searching, red-eyed stare for several seconds before nodding slightly. 

Rig smiled and tried to look encouraging as she pressed the button to unseal the tank. She had tried, over the six months since the raid on Dromund Kaas and the rescue of three hundred Force-sensitive children, to draw the blue girl into conversation to improve her Basic. However, the girl seemed content with the pidgin that she had with the Mandalorian boy, and more than once Rig had found herself trailing off mid-sentence under the girl’s silent red gaze.

Behind them, the door to the medbay whooshed open and closed. A quick glance behind her showed that it was just Knight Taa, who walked over to the small records office that was by the door and picked up a datapad. Rig traded nods with her, and the woman disappeared back into the hustle and bustle of the base. 

Short as the interaction was, the sight of the other knight made her glad that she had shooed the children away. Knight Taa could be rather snippy around them; sometimes, Rig wondered how the woman had survived as a creche master.

The top of the tank unsealed with a pop and a long hiss. Turning back towards the tank, Rig jumped a little. Tharassa was standing right behind her, looking at the doorway that Taa had just disappeared through with an odd, almost nervous look on her face.

…Snippy, indeed. Perhaps Rig should have a talk with Taa.

But now was not the time for such thoughts. Rig shook her head slightly and touched Tharassa’s shoulder, guiding her out of the way so that she could reach the control panel for the tank again. She had work to do.

Aji, floating in the tank in his harness, began to rise out of the bacta with the press of another button. Watching for a moment to make sure that the harness hadn’t shifted so that it would harm him while lifting, Rig turned and walked over to the small corner where the hoverstretchers were stored.

By the time she had one out and activated, only Aji’s feet were still submerged in the healing liquid. Tharassa had gotten out of her chair and was watching his progress closely, not blinking. Rig wheeled the stretcher into position, and the boy was carefully placed onto it by the machinery, with Rig guiding his back and head so that they were placed comfortably. 

The boy groaned softly as she removed the breathing mask that had covered his lower face, his eyelids fluttering. Tharassa leaned closer as he did so; Rig nudged her back. It was not a conscious noise - the sedatives and painkillers that the boy was on to promote healing would have him unconscious for several hours yet. Taking her place near the boy’s head, she began to push the stretcher down towards the assisted bathing room.

The door to the medbay whooshed open again, and a Wookie warbled.

Rig mentally groaned and looked up. Doctor Aarrrwan and Doctor Tigu. The two people she wanted to see in this galaxy the least.

She turned back to Tharassa and leaned over her slightly. “Tharassa,” she said quietly, “would you mind taking Aji to the bathing room and waiting for me? This shouldn’t take long.”

The girl’s face was blank, but she took the stretcher and began to guide it towards the room. Rig decided to take it as a win.

Straightening, she turned to face the Wookie and the pink Twi’lek who had entered the medbay and were coming towards her with determined expressions.

: _Knight Nema_ ,: Doctor Aarrrwan rumbled, : _we want to talk to you_.:

: _Both of us_ ,: Doctor Tigu signed.

Obviously, Rig thought sourly. “I’m afraid that now isn’t the best time,” she began.

: _It isn’t the best time for us either_ ,: Aarrrwan growled. : _But you’ve been busy every other time we’ve tried to talk to you as well. So I’m afraid we’re going to have to insist, despite the inconvenience to all of us_.:

Rig thinned her lips, but didn’t answer. She couldn’t. They were right, she had been putting them off for quite a while now. She supposed that this had just been a matter of time. 

“Very well,” she said, hating how tight her voice was, “make it quick. I have a patient to finish cleaning from a bacta treatment.”

: _Do you have an office we can speak in?_ : Tigu asked, his hands jerking through the air.

“I have an exam room,” Rig said, pointing to a room opposite of the direction that Tharassa had gone in. “Will that do?”

It would, apparently. Soon, the three of them were crammed into the tiny room. Tigu took a seat on one of the chairs, Aarrrwan standing behind him with his arms crossed. Rig took the other, crossing her legs and placing her folded hands on her lap. 

“So,” she said coolly, “how can I help you two today?” Please let it be about -

: _We need to talk about the children_ ,: Tigu signed. 

Of course. Rig sighed. “I suppose that this is about the actions of some of our members regarding their care, then?”

Rig was not unhappy that they had rescued the children. Nor was she upset by the idea that the Order would be taking the children in as a new generation of padawans, as some of the most reactionary Knights and Masters were. However, even those that recognized the need to continue the Order tended to find how quickly some of the Knights were zeroing in on specific children - disquieting. Skywalker, of course, had been the first, taking off with a red-haired girl called Mara and faking a poor signal whenever someone tried to call her back. Then Master Vos had begun to turn up wherever young Dhara Leonis with her missing arm did, helping her with small daily tasks. Even Master Unduli, a council member, had been spotted taking walks around the temple with a boy named Jai.

: _Not precisely_ ,: Aarrrwan growled. He leaned back against the wall and looked at her sternly with dark brown eyes. : _We don’t disapprove of you Jedi taking care of these children; they obviously have problems that need your knowledge to understand._ :

: _What we are worried about are their other problems_ ,: Tigu signed, taking over. 

Rig frowned. “I assure you, the other mindhealers and I are doing everything -” She stopped as Tigu began to sign again. 

: _We know about your mindhealing_ ,: he said. : _What we’re worried about is the fact that we seem to be working at cross-purposes._ :

“I beg your pardon?”

: _Some of the children that we’ve been talking to have been claiming that you’ve been encouraging them to repress what happened to them_.:

Oh. Rig tightened her lips. “A Jedi must have control,” she said carefully. “I’m sure that you have seen some of the effects of their losing control - just the other day one of your squad commanders ended up floating mid-air for three hours before he managed to contact someone to wake up a child. Such slips in control are due to -”

: _Not having the core issues of their trauma addressed_ ,: Aarrrwan growled. 

It was not a Knightly way to react, but Rig glared. “Forcing them to relive their trauma -” she began heatedly.

: _We aren’t forcing them to relive their trauma, we’re helping them confront and accept what happened to them!_ :

“As am I,” Rig replied, biting back her anger, “but I am managing to do so without destroying any progress that they’ve made in controlling their abilities!”

: _No, you’re teaching them to push it all down until it erupts at the worst possible moment!_ : Aarrrwan roared.

Rig stood up from her chair, furious, but forced herself not to show it. “If you have only come here to accuse me of not caring for these children, I’m afraid that you are going to have to leave,” she hissed. “Immediately.”

Tigu made a wordless sound and began to sign something, but anger was surging underneath Rig’s skin. She didn’t want to hear excuses - how dare they imply that the Order was hurting these children -

She hit the button to open the door and stood to the side, pointedly. “If you don’t mind,” she said, “I have work to do. You interrupted my time with a patient.”

Both of them seemed to see that she was not in the mood to continue the conversation. Aarrrwan was growling and Tigu’s hands had curled into fists, but they left without causing trouble. 

As soon as they were gone, Rig sighed and slumped, rubbing her forehead. She should not have done that. They probably did mean the best. They just didn’t understand the necessity of what she did, what they all did. 

She took in a deep breath and let it go. Here and now, she told herself. Here and now. She had a patient to care for.

That, at least, she could do without having someone looking over her shoulder. 

The inside of the assisted bathing room was stone like the rest of the base. Unlike the other rooms, though, the middle held a raised dais with several carved channels leading to drains in the corners. On the dais, the other doctors had set up a reclining chair and several hoses with spray-heads for washing off patients that needed help. 

Tharassa was waiting for her there, with the now dry and tacky Aji lying quietly on his hoverstretcher. She had an odd expression on her face.

Rig tried to smile. “Sorry about that,” she said softly. “How is Aji doing?”

Tharassa, of course, didn’t answer. She just looked at the boy, a blue hand bright against the pale skin of his bicep. She radiated worry and discomfort.

“Tharassa?” Rig placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Is everything alright?”

Tharassa was very still under her hand. Then she silently turned towards the hoses, picking up a spray-head.

Perhaps she was simply tired from the argument that she’d just come from, but Rig shrugged mentally at the girl’s reaction. Just another funny Tharassa thing, she supposed. Picking up her own hose, she got to work.

* * *

Jai peeked his head through the doorway of the commissary kitchen.

Unusually, it was pretty empty besides the usual cooks. Most of the time, when they weren’t doing whatever they did to fill the time, Jai and the others would spend their time hanging out in here with the clone cooks that were assigned, chatting with them and each other and eating the small treats that the clones never seemed to be able to resist giving them. 

Speaking of which…

Scanning the long tables that the cooks worked at, Jai didn’t see any treats, which was disappointing. He could always use one. He did, however, spot a short female Togruta with yellow skin and purple-striped tails and horns, chopping onions with an intense look of concentration on her round face. Pausing to wipe at her forehead with her arm, she looked up.

An enormous grin split her face. “Jai!” she said.

Everyone in the kitchen looked up for a moment, making Jai automatically flinch. Then he steeled himself, remembering that he wasn’t in the Academy anymore.

“Fleti,” he said, smiling back as he stepped fully into the kitchen. “Having fun?”

The little girl nodded, still grinning. “Yep! Scratch said that after I’m done this he’s going to teach me how to julienne carrots!” She looked past him, her smile fading slightly. “Where’s Ezra?”

Jai looked over his shoulder. “He was right behind me, but I think Doctor Nema wanted to talk to him for a minute.”

He turned back just in time to catch a frown flit across her face. 

“Aww,” she pouted, “I wanted to give him a treat.”

He couldn’t keep the eagerness out of his voice. “What kind of treat?”

A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, making him jump. “The sort meant for a specific person, kiddo.”

Twisting out from underneath the hand, his heart pounding in his chest, Jai looked at the person who had just touched him. It was a clone, tall and strong from years of work, with his head shaved so that he had two stripes of white hair on top of his head and a detached pair of muttonchops. He grinned, showing a set of straight white teeth, and held up his hands in apology.

“Sorry about that,” Gree said, taking a step back for good measure. “Sometimes I forget how that can seem to you.”

Jai’s heart was still thundering away in his chest, but he forced a smile for the man. “It’s no problem,” he assured him, “I should know that I’m not there anymore.”

The smile lessened at that, but didn’t disappear completely. “Anyways, I’m glad to see one of you guys here, actually.” He turned to the counter that Jai’s eyes had completely skipped over as he walked in, picking something up. “I haven’t seen Master Unduli around today, and she has the bad habit of skipping meals if she’s not reminded to eat. Would you mind running this to her? I still have a few things to talk to Stance about.”

Master Unduli? The kind Mirialan woman that had reassured him that his rescue was real? He grinned for real and took the small package, a container that he’d learned was called a lento box, his fear fleeing away at the memory of the woman. “Sure! Do you know where she is?”

Gree shrugged. “I think she’s having a meeting on the _Will of the Whills_. If she’s not there, she’s probably in one of the wardrooms with some Resistance muckity-muck.”

“Cool, thanks,” Jai replied, already halfway out the door.

Trotting down the base’s hallways, Jai kept his eyes peeled for the green-skinned woman, his fingers drumming impatiently on the hard material of the lento box. Master Unduli spent most of her time on the _Will of the Whills_ , rarely coming off of it even though it was parked in the Resistance hangar along with several other Jedi ships, but he didn’t want to miss her if she had left for some reason.

The hallways were bare of the green-skinned woman, though, and he soon was heading up the ramp into the Jedi ship. Tugging at the wide, loose collar of his shirt, he slowed down from his trot into something a little quieter. All of the Jedi ships reminded him of an archive, no matter how many people were on, and he always found himself trying not to make any noise - a move that several of the Jedi seemed to appreciate.

Today, though, it seemed that someone was ignoring that unspoken rule of quiet. His ears pricked up as he heard a familiar voice speaking loudly. 

“I told you before, training or no I only just got to my dad back! I am not going to leave him again on some old cult’s say-so because of something that I never asked for!”

Jai flinched at the anger in Kyle’s voice, his heart sharply thudding in his chest again. No, no, he told himself, you escaped, it wasn’t a dream, Master Unduli -

“You have much anger in you, Kyle Katarn. Training as a Jedi would help you release that anger and move on -”

“Yeah, right.” Kyle’s voice was derisive. “I’ve heard what you’ve been giving as advice. No thanks.”

His heart still pounding along, Jai peeked into the room that the shouting was coming from. Kyle was a familiar figure; being the oldest of all of them, he had had no trouble finding clothes that fit and was dressed like a spacer, his muscular arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face.

Standing opposite of him was a very tall, very scarred female Togruta. Jai had seen her before as well, but he didn’t know her name. She was some Jedi Master, and right now her brows were furrowed in unhappiness.

“I do not care for the aspersions that you are casting with that statement, Katarn,” she said, her voice tight and heavy. 

“And yet, I’m still casting them.” There was a desk behind Kyle, and he leaned back, a challenging gleam in his eye. “Besides, you’re acting like it’s already been decided that I’ll be a Jedi, and I don’t remember making any promises like that.”

“You are strong in the Force -”

“Yeah, so?”

The Jedi Master’s face was too damaged on the side that was facing Jai for him to easily tell her expression. But from the way she fell silent, the gnarled flesh on her face working, he could tell that she wasn’t happy.

“From what I understand,” Kyle said, his voice low and expressing his own displeasure quite clearly, “being Force-sensitive is something that you’re born with. My dad’s Force-sensitive too, and never got any training with it. He’s fine, too, so I don’t really understand why you’re harping on how I have to be trained -”

The edges of the lento box were cutting into Jai’s hands, leaking warmth and steam and shaking him out of his stupor at the argument in front of him. Looking down, he automatically checked and cringed - if heat was leaking through, that meant that the food was beginning to cool. He had to keep moving.

Yeah, that was why he was moving, he told himself as he continued down the hall. It wasn’t because he was uncomfortable with the argument unfolding in front of him.

The words gnawed at him though, reminding him of the uncertainty surrounding him and the other rescued children.

Everyone, it seemed, was expecting the Jedi to take him and the others on as their new padawans. The Resistance, the Jedi themselves, everyone - except. Except. Well. 

No one had actually asked them if they wanted to be padawans. They had just assumed.

And not all of them had been happy with that. 

Jai and the other kids were grateful to the Jedi. But they were also grateful to the Resistance. And, well, after everything, all the pain and fear and horror that the Inquisitors had inflicted on them…

Well, some of them would be perfectly happy if they never touched the Force again.

Jai himself was of two minds about this. On the one hand - yeah, the Force wasn’t exactly associated with good things in his mind. Talking about feeling the Force made him think about dark towers and hallways, lit only by flashing red lights, the warped sounds of alarms echoing through his ears. It made him think of other kids screaming. It made him think of the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. 

Honestly, ninety-nine percent of the time, if given the choice he would join the Resistance over the Jedi Order. 

That one percent of the time, though - those times in the dead of night, when he’d woken up from nightmares about yellow eyes and bloodied lengths of pipes and found himself wandering the halls of the Resistance base - those times, the idea of becoming a Jedi and never feeling so helpless again seemed very attractive.

But even then, the idea depended on certain things. Who his master would be, for one. Jai had met several Jedi over the last six months, more like dozens in fact. But again and again, during those night walks, his fantasies came back to one in particular. The one who had saved him from the Eighth Brother and his pet. The one that had held his hand all night long, reassuring him that their escape wasn’t just a dream.

The one whose door he was knocking on right now, in fact.

“Come in.”

The voice was slightly muffled behind the layers of durasteel, but they were clear enough for Jai. Pressing the button beside the door, he stepped into the small cabin before the doors had even finished opening. “Master Unduli!” he said brightly, shaking off his dark thoughts in favour of enjoying the calm stability that the woman radiated, “I brought -”

He then stopped, actually seeing the woman. 

She was kneeling on the floor, facing away from the door and towards a small statue set on a shelf sunk into the wall. As he trailed off, she turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. “Yes, Jai?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Uh, sorry for interrupting you.” He ducked his head, feeling his ears starting to heat. “I didn’t realize that you were meditating.”

“It’s quite alright,” she said, rising from her seat. “It wasn’t going particularly well, anyways. It probably doesn’t help that I’m expecting another fight tomorrow -”

“Fight?”

For a fraction of a second, Jai could have sworn that Master Unduli’s eyes widened in embarrassment. But then it was gone, and she had come over to him to lay a hand on his shoulder. It took a lot of willpower not to melt into the affectionate touch, but Jai just about managed it.

“Nothing for you to be concerned about,” she said, her voice steady and soothing. “Now, what have you brought?”

Jai raised the lento shyly. “I was visiting the commissary,” he said, not quite able to meet her gaze, “and Gree was there. He said that he was worried that you hadn’t eaten. So he asked me to bring you this.”

Gently, the lento was taken from him. Looking up, he saw Master Unduli go back to the wall and press a button, the heavy lento balanced on one hand. A flat surface slid out of the wall, matched by two small backless seats. Putting it down on the small table, Master Unduli took the lid off, releasing a delicious scent.

Jai licked his lips. Breakfast had been a long time ago for him.

Master Unduli made a small noise. Jai looked at her; had she noticed his reaction to the smell? He hoped that that wasn’t the case, she didn’t need him creeping on her food -

But no. She had just lifted out two small bowls and sets of utensils, looking amused. She turned towards him, smiling slightly. 

“I believe that Commander Gree is trying to give me a hint,” she said, holding out a bowl to him. “There’s a bit too much here for me to finish on my own. Would you mind helping me?”

Help her - Jai abruptly remembered the little smile on Gree’s face as he handed Jai the lento and felt a warm burst of affection for the clone. He must have realized how much he liked Master Unduli, and given him the perfect excuse to talk to her!

“Yeah,” he said, taking the bowl, “no problem. That food won’t know what hit it!”

* * *

Sabine dragged her fingers through the wet paint covering the dropcloth in frustration. Why couldn’t she make it work? Why were none of them appealing? 

Three helmets sat on the table in front of her in her room. Two were re-purposed roundhead helmets; the other, a pilot’s. When she had picked them out of the armory, her head had been buzzing with ideas and palettes. Now, in her room, though, the ideas were slipping away like water down a drain.

In frustration, she picked up one of her cans with her stained fingers. Blue. It went with the greens and purples she’d covered one of the roundhead helmets, and she started to apply a stripe of the colour down the middle. As soon as it touched the plasteel, though, she knew it was a mistake. It was too warm, too bright for the more muted tones -

She hurled the can across the room. It didn’t even have the decency to make a satisfying clang as it hit the wall.

Crossing her arms, she slumped back in her seat and stared balefully at the helmets. They stared back at her with empty, uncaring visors that were nothing like the ones that she was used to.

She wanted her helmet back. The one that had been left behind on Dromund Kaas as they fled an Imperial fleet. The one that her mother had given her, back when she had cared about things other than power. 

Her eyes prickled with tears. She and her mother had spent the month before she had left for the Imperial Academy on Mandalore decorating that helmet. They had picked out the colours together, and her mother had helped her stencil on the design. Her father had been off-planet, painting some Imperial bigwig, but Sabine could still remember how the corners of his eyes had crinkled as he smiled at the plans she showed him during a holocall. Even Tristan had gotten in on the fun, telling her how he wanted her to paint his helmet too.

And then she had lost it after during the Seventh Sister’s attack. After the Inquisitor had -

Sabine stopped that thought in its tracks and wiped at her eyes. No. She was not going to think about that. She was not going to think about her family. She was not going to think about any of that.

Getting up, she scooped up the can that she’d thrown and put it back on the table with its siblings. Covered in a dropsheet that had long since had its original colour covered up with stains, the entire area was a disaster zone that made her feel tired just looking at it. She’d have to clean it up before she went to bed, to reduce fumes if nothing else.  
Right now, though, she was going to ignore the mess. She was tired, and thirsty, and had a headache from squinting at the different colours she’d tried to decide between. She still had chores to do, including cleaning the galley before dinner, and she’d have to bathe before shielding practice with Kanan and Ezra to get the stink of chemicals off of her. She’d wasted too much time on these as it was.

The door to her room hissed open and let in a breath of sweet, fresh air. Stepping into the hallway, she ran a hand through her hair as she headed towards the galley. It was getting long, and she needed to re-dye it. Another chore. 

As she got closer to the galley, though, she began to hear the low murmur of voices. As she came closer, the door abruptly opened, disgorging Kanan and Hera in the middle of an argument.

“…don’t care what Fulcrum says, there’s nowhere near enough information here!”

Hera was pinching the bridge of her nose, her eyes squeezed shut. “Kanan, it’s a quick in and out. We won’t even be staying the night!”

“If nothing goes wrong. Which, you know, is what always happens -” 

Kanan broke off mid-sentence as he noticed Sabine. His arm, which had been raised and waving around a datapad, dropped back to his side. “Uh, hey Sabine. You seen Ezra?”

Hera’s lekku stiffened and she turned her head, looking awkward. “Sabine.” She traded looks with Kanan before turning fully towards her. “We were actually just looking for you.”

Sabine looked between the two of them. Both of them looked stressed; more stressed then they had been this morning. They weren’t looking at each other either, and standing further apart than usual. “Uh, for any particular reason?”

“We have a job -”

“We might have a job,” Kanan interrupted.

Hera rolled her eyes. “We might have a job,” she said, “depending on whether or not you and Ezra are comfortable with it.”

Sabine deepened her frown. She understood asking Ezra, since he was new, but usually they wouldn’t make such a fuss about telling her. She was dependable, always up for messing with Imperials. So why -

“Hey guys,” Ezra said as the door whooshed open. “What are we all standing in the hallway for?”

“Ezra,” Hera said, sounding surprised as she half-turned towards him. “You’re back early. I thought you were visiting your friends?”

He shrugged, not quite looking any of them in the face. “Got bored, decided to come back home,” he said breezily. Stepping closer, he spread his arms. “So, is this a meeting or what?”

Kanan sighed and rubbed the side of his nose. “I guess it’s a meeting now,” he said dryly. He turned to Hera. “I’ll wake up Zeb; we can all talk in the galley.”

Hera nodded. “I’ll get some tea started,” she replied. “Ezra, grab a meal bar for yourself. Dinner might be late.”

The kettle was rumbling and close to clicking off by the time Kanan got back with Zeb. Sabine had taken a seat at the table, her gut churning as Hera deflected her every question. What was with this secrecy? Why were they dancing around the mission and not just telling her straight up what they were going to do? Ezra was shooting her confused looks as well, showing that he didn’t have the faintest idea of what this was all about either. 

No, she didn’t like this. She didn’t like this at all.

Zeb let out a loud yawn as he entered the room, stretching his arms above his head. Letting them fall back down to his sides, he scratched at his belly. “So, what’s the job?”

“The possible job,” Kanan muttered, squeezing in through the doorway and nudging Zeb aside. “We haven’t accepted it yet.” 

“We’ve been grounded for six months,” Hera said from where she was standing beside the kettle. “We can’t keep relying on the Resistance for charity.”

“That doesn’t mean -”

The churning in her gut abruptly welled up in Sabine’s throat and spilled past her lips. “Can you please just tell us what the job is instead of arguing like we’re not here?!”  
Everyone turned to look at her in shock. Sabine realized that she was half-out of her seat, her hands splayed flat against the table. She almost quailed underneath the looks, a memory of another time where she had spoken out shooting across the backs of her eyes.

No. She wouldn’t cower. Standing up straight, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Well? We’re waiting.”

There was a long moment of silence as Kanan and Hera looked at each other. Then Kanan turned towards them, clutching his datapad tightly between his hands. “We have a mission from Fulcrum. To the Mandalore system.”

It felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. She sat down.

“To Concordia, to be specific,” Hera said. Sabine could feel her looking at her with concern, but thankfully she didn’t try to comfort her. “Mandalore’s moon. Fulcrum’s contacts managed to finally get their hands on some child prosthetics but with how heavily they’re regulated they’ve only managed to get it that far. Since we’ve managed to get in and out of Mando space before, Fulcrum thinks that we’re the most qualified for this pick-up.”

“Prosthetics?” Ezra was speaking now. “I’m in. Dhara’s been going nuts with only one arm, and I know she’s not the only one.”

“Yeah, about that,” Kanan said, sounding unhappy. “I’m not so sure I want you to be a part of this, Ezra. This is an Imperial-occupied planet, not some -”

“Kanan, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten but I kind of grew up on an Imperial planet,” Ezra replied, sounding exasperated. “I know the risks, probably better than anyone else here -”

“Kid,” Zeb chimed in. “There’s a big difference between Mandalore and Lothal. Mandalore had a huge rebellion just a few years ago and the Empire’s still cracking down on it. Pretty much every planet and moon in Mando space has a blockade hovering over it.”

Ezra scoffed. “So did Lothal, and we never had any sort of rebellion!”

“It’s not just that, Ezra,” Kanan said, swooping back into the conversation. “I’m also worried about how you and Sabine will react, being on an Imperial planet again.”

“What? Kanan, I’m not going to collapse just because I saw an Imperial crest. I’m fine now, I have you, I have my shields -” 

“Yeah, nice try buddy.” Kanan sounded unimpressed. “I know you’ve been skipping Aarrrwan’s sessions, we don’t know that you won’t collapse -”

Ezra threw himself back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Doctor Nema says I’m doing great,” he said sulkily. “I don’t see why I have to talk to Doctor Aarrrwan as well, all he wants me to do is tell what happened to me all over again.”

“Ezra.” Kanan let out a tired sigh. “We’ve talked about this before. What Aarrrwan’s doing is addressing the root cause of your - issues. Doctor Nema’s treating the symptoms, but if you want to truly get better you’re going to have to deal with the cause first.”

“Oh, the same way you do?”

Utter silence.

Sabine realized that her hands were curled into fists. She wasn’t wearing gloves, and her nails were cutting into her palms. Lifting her head, she saw that Ezra and Kanan were glaring at each other. Or, well, Ezra was glaring, his chin rounded out in a childish pout. Kanan just looked tired.

She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. Concordia. Mandalore’s moon, and the main stronghold of House Viszla. She’d visited there once, on her way to the Academy. The city had been pretty, and the main compound of House Viszla had seemed so proud and strong. But even back then, before the rebellion had broken out, there had been an air of tension. Of fear. She’d ignored it at the time, happily looking over the courses that she’d be taking, but looking back she could only feel anger over how stupid she’d been. She should have run then; maybe then she would have been able to at least not take part -

“Concordia’s pretty close to Mandalore,” she said, forcing the memories down. “Wouldn’t it have a bunch of security around it still?”

“It does,” Kanan said, breaking his staring contest with Ezra. “But not for the reasons you’re thinking of. According to Fulcrum’s sources, there’s some sort of Mando political summit going on right now, along with a festival. Most of the security will be focused on the summit and the bigwigs there, apparently, leaving us to fly in and out with ‘supplies for the festival’.” He made a mocking set of air-quotes. 

“A summit?”

“Yes,” Hera said. “Apparently, Viceroy Saxon wanted all the heads of the Noble Houses there to discuss ‘rebellious activities’ that have been happening in the sub-sectors.” She didn’t make air-quotes like Kanan, but her voice made it very clear what she thought about the Viceroy’s concerns. 

So, basically, a meeting to threaten the Heads of the Houses so that they’d let more Imperials run around in their territories. 

“That still sounds risky,” Sabine pointed out. 

“I know,” Kanan said, sounding unhappy. “That’s why I wanted to refuse.”

“We can’t refuse!” Ezra sounded utterly offended at the very thought. “We need those parts! Dhara can’t even put her pants on by herself, I know Ginba keeps smacking into doorways with only one eye -”

“Ezra, their troubles are not yours -”

“They are when I have a leg before everyone else!” Ezra smacked the table. “I know I’m the mascot and everything but it’s not fair that I got my leg right away and everyone else has to wait!”

“That doesn’t mean that you should risk your life!”

“Kanan! Ezra!” Hera’s voice cut through the air, shutting them both up instantly. Even Sabine straightened her back at the other woman’s tone. 

Stepping between the two, she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “We called this meeting to take a vote on whether or not to take this mission, not debate its merits. It’s a worthwhile cause and we have some of the best fake ID papers I’ve ever seen -”

“Best,” Kanan muttered derogatorily before shutting up as Hera glared at him.

“The best fake ID papers I’ve ever seen,” she said, her voice pointedly calm. “So - Ezra, are you in, or out?”

Ezra looked Kanan in the face and nodded.

“Zeb?”

Zeb, at least, looked a little sheepish. “Ezra’s right; I’ve seen the kids, and we need these prosthetics. I’m in.”

“Kanan?”

“Out,” he growled. “We’re not ready.”

“Sabine?”

Sabine swallowed as everyone turned towards her. “Vote already seems to be decided,” she pointed out, her stomach tightening at how her voice trembled. 

Hera’s eyes softened. “That doesn’t mean that you don’t get a say,” she said quietly. “You’re our Mandalorian expert, after all. If you don’t want this, we won’t do it.”

“Wait, so our votes didn’t matter?”

“Kid,” Zeb rumbled. “Not now.”

“But -”

“Not. Now.”

Sabine looked down at her lap. Her hands had curled into fists again.

Concordia was not Mandalore. It was not cities surrounded by deserts. It was not long, wide streets streaked with blood that echoed with screams that she could hear and see when she so much as looked at a picture of Sundari. Concordia had less of an Imperial presence, as well. Concordia was the main seat of House Viszla, the surface of Mandalore historically always under dispute by the various clans. 

The Empire had taken over Mandalore proper in its entirety, the white deserts of the planet reflected by the white and black crest. Sundari had had the Imperial Crest smeared across what had felt like every blank surface, always looking down at you like eyes as you marched along with your head down.

Concordia was supposed to be the home of every member of House Viszla, just as Mandalore was supposed to be the home of every Mandalorian. The Empire had taken Mandalore from her already. 

Was she ready to give up Concordia as well?

Sabine pressed her lips together tightly as she made her decision. She looked up. “I’m in.”


	3. Talks

Fenn did not give in to the urge to childishly stomp around once he was out of the turbolift and into the rooms that were currently taken over by the Protectors. He’d already seen most of his House down in the hotel bar, so he’d have at least a few hours alone to calm down, an he didn’t need to do anything so immature -

Kandal looked up from where he was sitting in an overstuffed armchair, reading something on a datapad. “I take it the talk didn’t go well?”

Fenn forgot about maturity entirely and snarled. Picking up a crystal vase filled with the small purple _saviin_ flowers that grew in every crack of the city, he hurled it against the wall. It smashed satisfyingly, the shards spraying across the wall with the water and the flowers bright against the cream carpet. “Chakaaryc shabuir!”

“Definitely didn’t go well,” said Fokkay, nodding their head like they were imparting some great secret to the world and not lazing in the armchair across from Kandal, their legs slung over one of the arms.

“Shut up, Fokkay,” Mahhae said, coming in from the balcony and closing the door behind her. Fenn could feel her concerned gaze on the back of his neck. “What was his excuse this time?”

Fenn breathed in and out, struggling to push down his anger enough so that he could speak. “Apparently, there’s just too much confusion currently with the meeting of the Houses and the festival.”

An angry noise ran through the room.

Fenn ground his teeth. Noise was nice, but what he really wanted was action. Gripping the edges of the table that had so recently held the vase he’d shattered, he bowed his head and swallowed, trying to loosen the knot swelling in his throat. A lock of his red hair fell in front of his eyes, taunting him over his loss of control. “I can’t keep doing this.”

“Fenn?”

Mahhae’s gentle touch on his shoulder had him sucking in a breath he hadn’t realized that he needed. Reaching up, he squeezed the dark-haired woman’s hand gently. “I don’t even care what’s happened now,” he said, his voice trembling. He realized belatedly that his eyes were burning. “I just want something, even just some bones. Something so that I know what’s happened to him.”

He heard movement behind him, and then Kandal’s dark hand was on his other shoulder. Turning his head, he saw that his second’s dark eyes were filled with concern.

“This was the eleventh time I’ve asked,” he said quietly, hating how broken he sounded. “Six times by holomessage, five in person. I’ve done everything short of getting down on my hands and knees and begging, and Saxon’s refused me every time.”

“Fenn…” Kandal murmured sympathetically, squeezing his shoulder. “We helped raise Aji too. We know how much he matters to you. You’re not alone in this - just tell us what you need us to do and we’ll do it. We can be in Sundari by tomorrow morning.”

Fenn shut his eyes and pressed his lips together, turning his face away. His nephew was the only other member of Clan Rau to have survived the civil war that Death Watch had brought to the Mandalore system. The last memory of his brother and sister-in-law. And Fenn hadn’t protected him when the Empire had come knocking, asking for someone to come to Mandalore’s new Imperial Academy. He should have just told them to go kriff themselves, but the memories of what he had seen in Sundari had felt as fresh as if he had just been in the blood-soaked city. So he had caved, and sent his little nephew there to be turned into a hostage for his good behaviour.

And now here he was. Alone, the last member of Clan Rau. All because he was a coward who would not fight for his clan or house.

“Going against the Empire is death,” he said quietly, opening his eyes and staring straight ahead at the bland beige wall. “Saxon and his attack dogs have proved that more than once.”

“They’ve proved themselves against the clanless and a few minor Houses,” Kandal said. “Not one of the Great Houses.”

“We have far more resources to bring to bear than any of them did,” Mahhae said, taking up the thread of conversation. “Not even Saxon can just wipe out a Great House on a whim, it would cause chaos that would have Imperials crawling all over Mando space. He likes having us as his own little fief; there’s no way he’d do something that would jeopardize that.”

“I’m sure that the rebels in Sundari thought something quite similar,” Fenn pointed out. The thought was tempting, though. Just ignoring Saxon and going to Mandalore, walking in and taking what he wanted. Finally knowing what the hell had happened to Aji.

“The Sundari rebels didn’t have me, though,” a voice piped up from behind the three of them. Fenn looked over his shoulder.

Fokkay was sitting up on the couch now, grinning in a way that felt very inappropriate to the mood that Fenn was feeling. They were also holding something between two fingers that glinted in the early morning light that was flooding the room.

Seeing that he had caught all of their attention, Fokkay got up and strode towards them. Fenn, in turn, straightened and shrugged off the hands of his friends. “What do you mean?”

Fokkay stopped just a few short steps away from him and wiggled what looked to be a small metal cylinder. In fact -

“Did you steal an Imperial code cylinder?” Fenn asked, a bolt of alarm lancing through him. Reaching out he grabbed Fokkay’s wrist tightly and dragged them forward. “If you’ve decided to ‘sharpen your skills’ now of all times -”

“Calm down, alor,” Fokkay said, patting his chest. “It’s not an Imperial code cylinder.”

Fenn raised an eyebrow at the odd emphasis.

Fokkay grinned sheepishly. “I mean, the Imperials didn’t build it.”

Fenn raised his eyebrow a little further.

Fokkay looked away, his pale ears reddening. “Look, I care about Aji too. A code cylinder isn’t a complicated piece of equipment. I actually wanted to talk to you about this earlier…”

Working his jaw, Fenn let go of Fokkay’s wrist and plucked the tapered cylinder from their hand. Looking at it closely, he could see a few small differences now. It was lacking the clip that Imperials used to secure them to their clothing, and it was slightly longer than what it was trying to mimic, with a flared bottom. “Then speak.”

“All of our problems with finding Aji go back to one thing,” Fokkay said, dropping his teasing tone. “We don’t have the access codes to get into the Imperial database. Technically speaking, we don’t need to be on Mandalore to access the information - that’s just the only place our specific access codes are recognized. Saxon’s Supercommandos, though; their codes are recognized everywhere in Imperial space.”

Fenn tore his eyes away from the faux-code cylinder and looked at Fokkay, understanding what they were getting at. “You want us to steal one of the Supercommandos’ access codes,” he said flatly.

Fokkay nodded, their face determined. “I designed that little guy to copy info from actual code cylinders nearly instantaneously. All we need is a few seconds with one of their cylinders and we’ll be able to access the Imperial database from any Imperial console in the galaxy.”

“That, of course, still leaves us with the problem of actually getting close enough to a Supercommando, though,” Kandal pointed out shrewdly. “Alor here hasn’t exactly been subtle with letting the galaxy know how much he hates them.”

Fokkay made an impatient gesture. “We have plenty of warriors here, one of the them is bound to be unknown to Saxon as a Protector.” They pulled out a small datapad that had been hanging from their belt. “Here, I managed to get a list of some of the places that the Supercommandos hang out at during their time off. So long as our person isn’t dressed like a Protector, they should be okay.” They pushed the pad into Fenn’s hands, nearly making him drop the cylinder. “I even managed to find a forum that tracks the commandos movements - mostly off-world helmet-bangers - so we can find ‘em easy.”

“Drag them out into an alley, spring an ambush,” Mahhae said. She sounded thoughtful.

“Ehh, I was thinking more lure them into an alley than drag them, but yeah, basically,” Fokkay said, flashing a thin, worried smile. They turned back Feen. “Sound doable to you?”

Fenn swallowed. This plan - it did have a high chance of success. He’d heard of the Supercommandos conduct on other Imperial planets, where they took what they wanted and damn the consequences. A pretty face and a promise, he had no doubt that they could get at least one separated from the pack.

But doing that - there was no sugar-coating it. This plan was treason, pure and simple. Something that could have the Grand Inquisitor coming to visit Concord Dawn with his star destroyer.

“If he finds out.” Mahhae said.

Shit, he’d been speaking out loud.

Mahhae squeezed his hand. “Do you really think that one of Saxon’s men is going to want to advertise that he got beaten up? Heck, we can even play our cards so that it just looks like a robbery - they’ll really not want to advertise what happened if we do that.”

Fenn worried his lower lip.

Kandal leaned close. His eyes were soft. “Yes, this has risks,” he said. “Living is a risk, though. Opposing Saxon’s attempts to gain more control over the Concord Dawn system is risky. You’ve done so much for everyone - let us do this for you.”

“You can disavow all knowledge of us,” Fokkay promised.

Fenn closed his eyes again and huffed a laugh. “This is happening no matter what I say, isn’t it.”

“Yup.” Mahhae’s hair brushed his temple as she leaned against him. He could feel her smile through the thin cloth of his shirt.

Kandal was leaning against him too now, his arms strong and impossible to escape. And Fokkay - they’d come forward, and were now pressing their forehead to his.

Fenn took a deep, shaky breath. “Be careful. Please.”

Not even Fokkay made a joke at his plea. “We will,” they murmured.

“We all will,” Kandal promised.

* * *

Kleeve scratched at the base of his horns, staring down at the datapad in front of him. “And building off of the previous mission,” he muttered to himself, “it behooves us -” He stopped and made a face. “Behooves us? The hell am I saying?”

“It does stick out from your previous language,” Queen Organa agreed, pouring first him and then herself a fresh cup of tea.

Kleeve sighed. With a touch, the outline of the little speech he’d been planning was wiped away. He was so tired that even the tips of his ears ached, he had a meeting with Master Windu in two hours, and he was no closer to coming up with a convincing argument to work another mission together than he had been last night.

By the Force, he hated how the Jedi refused to just join the Resistance. He didn’t understand why they insisted on having a debate on each mission before they agreed to take part.

Half of the problem, he knew, was due to how opaque the Order could be. They had been hanging around Yavin Base for six months now and Kleeve was sure he didn’t understand them anymore than when they first set up shop in orbit of the moon.

What did the Jedi want? Aside from the children, he meant. He could tell that they wanted the children to join their Order, and badly; their clones stalked the halls and rooms that the children chose to congregate in, and there always seemed to be a Knight or Master somewhere nearby in the warren that was Yavin Base. Always ready with a smile or a joke or an answer to a question, always free for however long the child needed them, unlike much of the Resistance. There had been mutters from General Draven’s camp about building on that, but Kleeve had nipped that in the bud as quickly as he could. A forced alliance was no alliance at all.

Besides which, they had no right to claim guardianship over the children. First came the rights of the parents, and then the rights of the Jedi Order. Kleeve was fond of studying history, even more-so after visiting Dromund Kaas. Going back to the Ruusan Reformations after the Thousand Years of Darkness, it was clear even then that there was significant precedent for the Jedi Order taking in injured or damaged Force-Sensitives. Heck, even as a Separatist, the issue of what to do with Force-Sensitive children had been a fraught one, given that they were breaking away from a thousand years of tradition and precedent. As a general, he had not often been involved in the day-to-day government of the CIS, but his rare visits to their Senate were filled with memories of shouting.

Kleeve’s lips twitched downwards as the memory of meeting his first Inquisitor rose to the forefront of his thoughts, so soon after conquering Coruscant. The being had been totally covered from head to toe, but he remembered thinking that they were rather short. He really should have realized then and there what was happening to their Force-Sensitives.

A cup of tea was pushed beside his now-blank datapad. “A credit for your thoughts.”

Kleeve looked up.

Queen Organa looked at him evenly, but there was a small pucker of worry between her eyebrows. “You started frowning rather fiercely, there.”

He wiggled his jaw, his eyes sliding away. “Just some old memories. Old guilt.”

Organa was silent for several seconds. Then she opened her mouth to speak.

She never had a chance to actually say anything, though, because at that moment the door to his office opened and allowed a Wookie and a pink Twi’lek to march in.

Immediately, before the door even had a chance to close, the Wookie began to bellow. Furry arms waved through the air, promising violence to whoever had raised his wrath.

Sitting across from him, Queen Organa turned to the shelf on the wall and picked up a datapad. Turning it on, she tapped the screen a few times before turning back to the Wookie.

“Sergeant Aarrrwan?” she said, holding out the ‘pad. “Sergeant Aarrrwan, we can’t understand you. If you could speak into the translation program -”

The Wookie snatched the ‘pad from her with a frustrated growl. Raising it to his lips, he he went right back to bellowing.

“The Jedi are still refusing to coordinate with us!” The synthesized voice from the datapad was calm and soothing, so incongruent with the anger of the speaker that Kleeve had to swallow an snicker.

“Yes,” he said in reply, managing to keep his voice even, “that does seem to be their standard operating procedure.”

“It’s hard enough to treat these children with our language barriers, the fact that they’re completely contradicting our instructions on how the children should process what happened to them -”

His amusement fled from his body. “Wait, wait,” Kleeve said, holding up a hand to stop them Wookie’s rant. “My apologies, but would you mind starting from the beginning with this? I’ve been handling a lot regarding the children, and I’m afraid that the details of this seem to be escaping me. You’ve been treating the children for their trauma, correct?”

The Wookie growled. “Untranslatable. Please repeat,” the datapad chimed.

The Twi’lek placed a hand on Sergeant Aarrrwan’s arm and signed something. Kleeve was thankful that he had taken the time to learn this language after Dromund Kaas. :Aarrrwan, take a breath and calm down.:

Aarrrwan growled again, looking like he was ready to fight, but then abruptly stopped. His furry shoulders moved up and down as he obeyed his colleague’s suggestion, and he smoothed down his fur.

The Twi’lek turned back towards them. Tigu, Kleeve thought his name was. He wasn’t sure of his rank; any patches on his clothing was obscured as his jumpsuit was pushed down to his waist as a concession to the Yavinese heat, leaving only a blank white undershirt covering his scarred upper body.

Raising his hands, he began to sign out an explanation. :Yes, Aarrrwan and I were both asked to start treating the children soon after the rescue. There are not many accredited psychiatrists in the Resistance, unfortunately, and two people cannot treat three hundred patients on their own. So we thought that perhaps the Jedi could help, since they were so interested in the children in the first place.:

“Except that it turns out the Jedi way of dealing with mental health issues can be summarized as ‘suck it up, snowflake’.”

Tigu shot Aarrrwan an irritated glare. The Wookie only crossed his arms, looking stubborn.

His lips tight, Tigu turned back to them and continued to sign. :I would not have put it that way,: his fingers fluttered gently, :but it’s not too far from the truth, as far was we can tell. Apparently they been being told to ‘let go’ of what happened to them, rather than being helped to process what was done to them. In the long run, this is only going to further damage them and their ability to cope with things.:

Kleeve shifted in his seat. “I see. Have you tried to talk to the Jedi yourselves about this? I know that Knight Nema has been making use of our bacta tanks -”

Aarrrwan made a scornful growl. “She kicked us out of the medbay after five minutes of talking.”

Internally, Kleeve grimaced. “I assume, then, that you would like me to talk to the Jedi about this as well?”

:We are only doctors,: Tigu agreed. :You are a General of the Resistance. If they will not listen to us, perhaps they will listen to you.:

Kleeve was not sure that he agreed with that assessment. But he kept his doubt off of his face. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, after all. “I have a meeting with Master Windu today. I’ll bring it up with him.”

:Thank you,: Tigu signed. :Will you let us know how it goes?:

Kleeve nodded and flashed them what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Of course. Hopefully, you will soon be treating the children together.”

:Hopefully,: Tigu signed, his face solemn. :Hopefully.:

* * *

The lunch was noodles and steamed vegetables, all smothered in a spicy sauce. Jai had never tasted anything quite like it. On Lothal, he and his mother had eaten traditional dishes; bread and fish, lightly seasoned. Roasted beetles, and bean soup. Dark, bitter teas and caf, and sometimes blue milk if they managed to get to the store early enough.

A small pang worked through his chest at the thought of his mother, but he pushed it away. The thoughts that bubbled up late at night had no place here, and he wouldn’t let them ruin his time with Master Unduli.

Swallowing down his mouthful of noodles, he smacked his lips. “So, um, I have a question that I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Master Unduli looked up from her bowl and swallowed her own mouthful of noodles. “Yes?”

Jai fiddled with his fork, staring down at his noodles. “If it’s not rude, or anything - I mean, I’ve just noticed you guys hanging around a lot, and I’ve heard some conversations…” He trailed off for a moment before steeling himself. “What exactly - what exactly is a padawan? I mean, I’ve heard some stuff from the Empire, but I doubt that that’s accurate - what does a padawan do? What’s it like?” He tapped the side of his bowl nervously with his fork and ducked his head, one last question pressing against the back of his teeth. “How does a Jedi choose a padawan?”

There were several long, agonizing heartbeats of silence before Jai dared to look up. Had he offended her? Was this information forbidden for anyone outside of the Jedi to know?

He relaxed as he saw her expression, though. Rather than angry, she simply looked thoughtful, nibbling on a piece of roasted pepper. “That’s quite a lot of questions,” she finally said, putting her fork down. “And rather abrupt as well. May I ask what spurred them on?”

Jai looked back down at his bowl and stirred it restlessly. “Nothing, really. I mean, I just saw Kyle on my way in talking with Master Ti, and I think that she wanted him to be her padawan, and I just kind of realized that I didn’t really know anything about this sort of stuff, even though everyone seems to be expecting us to join the Jedi…” He trailed off, his ears hot.

Again, when he looked up, she didn’t look mad. Only thoughtful. With a slow twist of her wrist, she stirred what was left of her meal. “I suppose then, that you are worried that you will be forced into the Order?”

Jai shifted in his seat. “Not…exactly?” He worried his lower lip for a moment. “I mean, I’m really grateful and all for the rescue - it’s just, no one’s really asked what we want, they’re just assuming that we’re going with you guys and it’s not like I don’t like you guys, it’s just…”

“No one asked you,” Master Unduli said. Her voice was soft.

Jai started tapping his fork against the side of his bowl again. “Kyle doesn’t seem to want to be a Jedi at all.” He found himself unable to look her in the eye.

“And you?” She had put down her utensils, and had folded her hands in front of her now. “What do you want?”

His fork stilled, and he stared down at the now-congealing food. “I dunno,” he mumbled. “I dunno if I want to touch the Force or whatever, but - I don’t, I don’t want to be helpless if the Inquisitors find us again. And I - I’m not sure what it’ll be like calling someone master, after everything that’s happened.” _I’m not sure if I want to call anyone master, he thought. Except maybe for you._

“Your feelings are understandable,” Master Unduli said after a long pause.

Something in her normally-serene voice made him look up.

Just as he hadn’t been able to look at her, it seemed that she wasn’t able to look at him. Her head was bowed over her noodles, and he could see a small furrow in her brow.

“After how the Inquisitorius introduced you to the Force, making you draw on the Dark Side - I can understand that you do not view it positively.” Her words were slow and measured, like she was counting out credit chips for a cashier. “And I can understand that that has lead you to be hesitant to learn more about it as a member of the Order. Equally, though, I can understand your desire to know more for you own defense.” She stopped for a moment, clearly gathering her thoughts. “Everything you feel is perfectly understandable,” she repeated, looking up at him.

Jai chewed on the inside of his cheek.

She was knotting her fingers together, now, in an oddly nervous gesture. “I will admit, I’m not quite sure how to address the issue of calling someone ‘Master’, though. To us, it is a term of respect.”

Jai shrugged. “I do respect the Jedi,” he said. “Especially you. I mean -” He froze as he realized what had come out of his mouth.

But Master Unduli just smiled at him sadly. “I’m not sure that I agree with you on that.” She picked her fork back up and twirled it through her noodles. “I am far from a good Master. Any other Jedi would tell you that.”

Jai’s embarrassment fled, replaced by indignation on Master Unduli’s behalf. “Who told you that?” he demanded hotly. “They’re wrong, you’re a great person! You held my hand -”

And just like that, the embarrassment was back. He looked back down at his congealed noodles and scratched at the tabletop. “I mean,” he said, clearing his throat, “you certainly seem like a great Jedi to me.”

“You’re very kind to say that.” She clearly didn’t believe him. “But perhaps we should move on to more comfortable topics. How have you been doing? Have you been getting along with the other children? I know that you weren’t allowed to interact with them much during your imprisonment.”

Jai wanted to argue more with her, but wasn’t sure that he would win. So instead, he went along with her change of subject. “We’ve been getting along okay. Dhara’s recommended a bunch of holo-vids, so a couple of us have been trying to hunt them down. Some of us have been getting bored, too, so they’ve started helping out around the base.”

Master Unduli nodded and took a mouthful of food, swallowing it before speaking again. “And Galen?”

“Who?”

She frowned a little, making him feel unaccountably guilty. “The other boy that was in the tower with you.”

Oh.

Him.

He knew that he was making a face, but he couldn’t stop it. Picking his own fork back up, he jabbed it into the noodles. “I dunno. Haven’t really seen him around.”

Her frown only deepened.

Jai only pressed his lips together tightly. “He’s…weird,” he muttered after a pregnant pause. “I’ve seen him staring at us, but he never comes over or anything. I figured that he just didn’t really care to spend time with the rest of us.”

And honestly? Jai was okay with that. He didn’t exactly relish the idea of spending time with the Eighth Brother’s pet. They’d all had to watch his ‘sparring’ with the other kids, and the sound of breaking bones and screams were often the soundtrack to his nightmares. If the pet wanted to keep to himself, then that was fine with him.

“Perhaps he is nervous,” Master Unduli remarked mildly, like they were talking about the weather. “Spending so much time one on one with a single Inquisitor can be rather traumatizing, as I’m sure young Bridger can tell you. Perhaps he no longer knows how to properly interact with others, and needs someone to help him.”

Okay, he could tell where this was going. “You know, I was thinking about where I could maybe start helping out last night,” he said. “I thought that maybe the recyclers could use some help - I’m pretty good with reworking tech. What do you think?”

“I think that you’re trying to change the subject,” Master Unduli said dryly. She sighed. “But I suppose that that sounds like a good idea. Sorting through parts for what’s salvageable and what isn’t is always a task that needs more hands.”

Jai ignored the first part of her statement. “That’s what I thought. I once helped my mom fix a refrigerator with the parts of a speeder-bike.”

“Oh?”

This story was something that he was much more comfortable with. It still made his heart twinge, thinking about his mother, but the memory was an old and comforting one, not easily touched by sadness. So he launched into the whole long saga, and put the pet from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I know things are going slow but I swear it's all necessary set-up. In the meantime, though, if you're bored, there is a TV Tropes page to mess around with. Just erase the spaces.
> 
> http:// tvtropes.org/ pmwiki/pmwiki.php/ Fanfic/ ChildrenOfTheForce


	4. Start Your Engines

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

One. Two. Three. Four.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Sabine silently counted her breaths. In for a count of seven, hold for four, out for seven, just as Kanan had said. Normally, this did a good job of focusing her - giving her mind something simple to do that still required focus to keep in sync with her actions. Today, though, she couldn’t seem to slip into the serenity that she had become used to while meditating.

It was probably because of the two other people in the cargo hold with her. Cracking an eye, she mentally sighed at the sight in front of her.

Ezra was sitting on the floor of the cargo hold with her, his eyes closed and legs crossed. His face was serene except for the tightness around his eyes. Kanan, who was sitting across from him, was a perfect mirror.

She wished that they would just have it out already. Sitting in a small ship in hyperspace with the two of them angry at each other was no fun at all, something that Sabine was pretty sure everyone else on the ship felt as well.

Ezra shifted slightly, his cut-down flight-suit crinkling loudly in the silence of the hold.

“Focus.” Kanan’s voice was stern. 

Ezra’s eyes flashed open. “I am,” he said sulkily.

“If you’re fidgeting, you’re not meditating,” Kanan replied.

“Or maybe I’m just uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well, you should have thought about that before you snuck onto the ship after I told you to stay back at the base -”

“They’re my friends, Kanan, there’s no way I’m just going to sit around while -”

“I was trying to keep you safe -”

Yeah. This was going nowhere. Sabine stood up, drawing the attention of both of them. “This isn’t working. I’m going to go talk to Hera.”

Kanan sighed and finally opened his eyes, turning to look at her. “Sabine -”

Sabine didn’t want to hear it. Heading towards the ladder that lead to the cockpit, she began to clamber up.

Personally, she wasn’t particularly thrilled that Ezra had snuck onto the ship either. He’d never been on a mission with them before, and the Mandalore system was not a good place for a rookie’s first mission. Kanan had known that, and set things up so that Ezra could stay back on Yavin while they did the mission. But it turned out that Ezra was more clever at hiding on the ship than anyone had realized, and they were already a good hour into their hyperspace journey when he had popped out of one of the vents.

As she stepped into the cockpit, Hera looked up from the display she was scrolling through and grimaced. “That bad?”

Sabine huffed and sat down in the co-pilot’s seat, rubbing her face. “Ezra’s still insisting that he has to be here.”

Hera sighed, leaning back in her chair. “He feels like he has to pull his own weight,” she said softly. “And while that’s not a bad thing necessarily -”

“This isn’t the best mission to prove himself on.” Sabine finished Hera’s sentence with a bitter twist to her lips. “Fulcrum can say that this is a milk run all they want - we both know that’s not true.”

Hera sighed again and looked at her. “If all goes well, we’ll be out of the system before the Ghost’s night cycle.” She put her hand on Sabine’s knee and squeezed it gently. “It’s going to be okay. The authorities on Concord Dawn are completely wrapped up in preparing for the celebrations.”

Sabine frowned. “The more you guys say that, the less convincing it sounds.”

The doors to the cockpit hissed open. Turning her head, she saw Ezra come in, his limbs stiff with anger.

“Where’s Kanan?” Hera asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ezra flopped into his chair, raising his arms in a wordless show of frustration. “In his room, or whatever. Said that the meditation wasn’t working and I should go bug you guys.”

“Ezra…” Hera reproached. 

Ezra just pouted, slouching in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. “You said it yourself, this is a milk run. Considering that it’s my friends that are the ones waiting for the shipment, why shouldn’t I be involved?”

Hera rubbed her forehead and stood up. “I’m going to check on Kanan,” she said. “Both of you, try to get along.”

Sabine bit the tip of her tongue to keep from saying something that she’d regret. The doors swished open one last time to let the captain through, and then she and Ezra were alone. 

For several minutes, they sat in silence, the light of hyperspace playing over their faces. Sabine stared at the swirling blue lines, ignoring Ezra.

“…You dyed your hair again,” Ezra said quietly. He was swiveling his seat from side to side, pushing it with his one leg that was still flesh. The chair squeaked with every push, making Sabine’s knuckles go white under her gloves.

“Yeah,” Sabine replied tersely. She kept her eyes on the starlines; maybe he’d take the hint -

No such luck.

“Black looks kind of weird on you,” he continued. _Squeak squeak squeak_. “I thought you’d go for something brighter.”

“The Empire doesn’t do colour. Considering that we’re going to an Imperial planet, I thought it would be best if I blended in.” She looked significantly at his bright orange pilot’s suit and white scarf.

Ezra didn’t seem to notice, however. The squeaking stopped and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know the Empire’s colour scheme, thanks,” he grumbled, resting his chin in his hands. “I just thought that since our cover was spacers, you wouldn’t have bothered.”

Sabine huffed a scornful chuckle. “And that is why no one wanted you on this mission.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true!” Sabine turned her chair, her frustration suddenly bubbling over. “This isn’t some sort of game, Ezra! The Mandalore system went through a crackdown less than five years ago - everybody’s going to be toeing the line there. This is the sort of thing professionals think about!”

“Well, how am I supposed to be a professional without any instructions?” Ezra snapped back. “All I kept getting was a pat on the head and a lecture to be a good little boy!”

“Because Kanan cares about you! He doesn’t want you to get hurt, not after everything that you’ve gone through already!”

“Oh, so that just nullifies what everyone else is going through as well?” Ezra asked sarcastically. “I’m not the only one the Inquisitors hurt! And they’re still hurting - they nee those limbs!”

Sabine threw her arms up in the air in frustration. If he couldn’t see that they could handle it without him, nothing was going to get through to him. Crossing her arms across her chest, she turned her chair and went back to staring at the starlines. 

There was silence for several more minutes. 

“Um, Sabine?”

“What?” Sabine bit out.

“You said you dyed your hair to blend in - I think you missed a spot.”

Sabine craned her neck around the chair’s headrest to look at Ezra. He was gesturing towards his neck.

“I saw it when you were yelling at me,” he said, sounding a bit nervous. “Like, under the black, near your neck. There was some blue -”

Silently, Sabine leaned forward. Taking a hand, she slid it underneath the hair at the back of her head and let it fall down in waves, revealing the dark blues and purples that flowed into each other only to be finally covered by black.

“I know, Ezra,” she said. “I did that on purpose.”

“Oh.” Ezra sat back in his seat. “I didn’t realize.”

Sabine just grumbled to herself, sitting back in her own seat.

Something on the dashboard beeped. Glancing over, Sabine saw that it was the ten-minute warning for leaving hyperspace. Reaching over to the intercom, she switched it on.

“Hera? We have ten minutes before arrival.”

There was a pause. Then -

“Thank you, Sabine. We’ll be up in a minute.”

* * *

Of course, there had been another argument as soon as they had landed. Kanan had wanted Ezra to stay on the ship, while Ezra had pointed out that he had come this far, so why not take him all the way. Hera had ended up having to step in and point out that Ezra would likely follow them to the meeting point if they didn’t take him (something Ezra hadn’t denied). Kanan had looked mutinous at that, but had backed down once Ezra had promised to obey everything he said from now on.

Promises or no, though, it was a rather tense walk to the warehouse where they’d be picking up the cargo. Sabine had left her armor behind on the Ghost so that she wouldn’t attract any attention, so she was feeling rather exposed as they weaved through the crowds on top of everything else. She found herself looking around the city like a tourist in an attempt to keep her mind off of things. 

At first glance, the city didn’t look any different than from when she was last here. The same tall buildings, the same wide streets with tiny alleyways leading away like tributaries to a mighty river. The same people rushing to and fro, ignoring everyone around them. Trees and flowers sprouted from rooftop and balcony gardens, just as they had when she’d visited before.

A closer look put lie to the normality, though. Before, the buildings had had filigree in the windows and were painted many different colours. Now, they were all white, their only decorations blood-red banners with the Imperial Crest stenciled on in black. The gardens that had once spilled over railings were now severely trimmed, the flowers pulled back into blocks of the same species where before they had been a riot of colours. And the people who walked the streets had looks of fear on their faces rather than contentment.

Sabine bit her lower lip and stared down at the pavement in front of her. Her stomach was twisting and she could taste bile in the back of her throat. 

It was just like Sundari.

Memories of red began to trickle through her thoughts. Red on a painter’s canvas, marring the meadow that had been halfway finished there. Red on the tiled floor. Red on her hands -

Sabine swallowed. Took a breath. Looked back up.

She needed something to look at. Something neutral. Her eyes darted around, and she cursed how similar Mandalorian architecture could be. White buildings stretched into the sky, framed by the grey mountains that seemed to be everywhere on Concordia. Her throat felt tight. All of the gold and glitter that had decorated the city just three years ago seemed to have been stripped away, leaving only the pared-down blocks of Imperial rule behind.

Her throat was tightening again. She was surrounded by the Empire, but maybe - her eyes lunged upwards, up the largest of the mountains surrounding the city. Saxon was a part of House Viszla, surely he would protect it -

Her eyes landed on a distant building, set into the rock of the mountain, and she felt the tension begin to leak from her. She had been correct; Compound Viszla, at least, seemed unchanged. Locked up ever since Death Watch had revealed its true extent, what she could see was only a fraction of the massive complex that had been carved into the mountain centuries before. Her father, an artist from Mandalore the planet and a fan of history, had told her all about it. How it was so huge that even Pre Viszla hadn’t known all of the tunnels. How large parts of it had been locked away for centuries, holding the true treasures of House Viszla. How sometimes you could hear the footsteps of the previous heads of House Viszla marching through the hallways.

Sitting on her father’s lap, back on Krownest, with the winter winds howling outside, she had shivered delightedly at the stories. She had loved the stories about Tarre Viszla and how he had decided to build the Compound, and had been saddened when she had been told that she couldn’t visit it when she was staying in the city. 

Something moved near the entrance of the Compound, jerking Sabine from her sweetly melancholic thoughts. Frowning, she slowed down, squinting. Was that - stormtroopers? They were taking something into -

“Sabine?”

Sabine tore her eyes from the building. The others had stopped and were looking back at her with concern.

“Sabine, we’re going to be late,” Hera said gently. Her eyes were filled with concern.

Sabine swallowed and shook her head slightly. “Sorry,” she muttered, forcing her legs in to a jerky near-march. She felt Hera’s fingers brush against her shoulder and deliberately kept still. She’d been the one to give the go-ahead to this mission, and she didn’t need anyone’s pity. She could complete this mission. She could.

Behind her, she could hear Kanan sigh. In her mind’s eye, she could imagine the concerned looks they were shooting at each other. 

She rolled her shoulders, making her black jacket sit a little higher up her neck. She could complete the mission. She could.

Thankfully, no one actually tried to speak with her further on the way to the meeting place. Ezra did come up beside her and shoot her concerned puppy-eyed looks, but they were easily ignored. 

After far too long a walk, they finally reached the meeting place to pick up the cargo. A large warehouse, it had nothing in particular to pick it out from the other warehouses in the area except for the fact that it had one of its loading docks open. 

Kanan strode up ahead of them, his hand resting casually on the handle of his blaster. “Hello?” he called.

A head poked out from around the doorframe, wrinkled and wearing a large set of goggles. “Keep your voice down!” the person hissed, their voice at that strange pitch that didn’t quite reveal their gender. “Are you new or something?”

Kanan paused, his hand still on his blaster, and cocked his head. “When it comes to this system, maybe,” he said casually. “Do you have the parts?”

“Gah!” the person hissed. A hand as wrinkled as its owner’s face darted out, jerkily gesturing at them. “Get in here before you blow our cover, you idiots!”

Kanan looked over his shoulder at them, smirking. “Sure thing,” he said in a sing-song tone. He looked more relaxed than Sabine had seen since they left Yavin.

Maybe it was the familiarity of their actions. Maybe he was just honestly enjoying nettling their contact. Who knew? The Jedi were famous for their ability to mask their emotions.

The inside of the warehouse was dim. Filled with boxes, the only light that managed to come in came in through the few windows set high in the walls. Ahead and just turning a corner in what looked to be a maze of cargo was the little wrinkled being, trailing hissed commands and insults to ‘get in here and stop wasting my time’.

Ezra was lagging behind them. Looking over her shoulder, Sabine saw that he was looking back over his own shoulder at something. Subtly, she slowed down so that he could catch up. Zeb briefly looked back at her, raising a brow, but she just gestured him on ahead. She was fine, now. The walk had cleared her head.

Falling in beside Ezra, she slung a friendly arm over his shoulder. He jumped at the sudden touch and looked up at her, confused. 

She leaned her head in close to his ear. “See anything back there?” 

Ezra blinked a few times before answering. “N-no,” he said slowly, keeping his own voice low. “Just - I dunno. I thought I felt something.”

Sabine frowned. “Should we tell Kanan?” His hunches alone had saved their lives more than once. If Ezra was picking up on something that they couldn’t…

But Ezra was shaking his head. “No,” he said, “no, it was nothing. He’s got enough on his mind.”

Sabine was about to argue when she saw the look on his face. She’d seen that look in a mirror more than once herself, and she knew that it would be useless now to try and pressure him into anything. He’d made up his mind, and that was the end of it. So instead of opening her mouth, she pressed her lips together and looked back ahead.

The crate that held all of the prosthetics was smaller than Sabine had expected. Intellectually, she knew that a lot of the parts that were needed were more for regulating neural impulses due to brain damage than replacing whole limbs; but still, she had expected something as big as she was, not something that looked like Zeb could carry it by himself. It had been popped open by the time she and Ezra had managed to reach it, and Hera and Kanan were already going through the manifest.

The contact was drumming their fingers along the top of it, shifting from side to side. “Come on, come on,” they muttered, “I’m good for it. I’ve always been good for Fulcrum, you don’t need to count -”

“We haven’t gotten this far by taking people at their word.” Kanan cut the man off as he straightened up. “We’ll be checking that everything’s here before you’re paid, thanks.”

The contact made a frustrated noise. “Well excuse me, it’s not like the Empire’s been patrolling the streets or anything.”

“That’s hardly something unusual in the Mandalore system.” Hera didn’t look up from the manifest.

Sabine looked around, already getting bored with the contact’s sputtering. They were alone, unusually enough. Most of their contacts in the underworld didn’t go anywhere without a personal guard, but she supposed that everyone had to start from the bottom of somewhere.

A small glint of metal caught her gaze.

Huh. Maybe he did have guards, then. She looked back over to the crate.

And then stiffened. That glint hadn’t been from a blaster. It had been from armour.

Slowly, so that no one could tell that she had seen something, she sidled towards Kanan. As she passed, she tugged at Ezra’s shirt, a silent command to follow. “Kanan -”

There was a set of clicks that only came from safeties on blasters clicking off. 

“Rebel scum,” said a man with a Core accent, his voice deep and rich with satisfaction. “Get down on your knees and put your hands on your heads. You are under arrest by the order of the Galactic Empire.”

Sabine’s heart plummeted from her chest. Turning her head, she saw the familiar black uniform of an ISB field agent, a massive set of thick muttonchops covering the sides of his face - and the hulking figure of an Imperial Inquisitor, looming over him.

Beside her, she heard Ezra suck in a breath and knew he’d seen the Inquisitor as well. What did they do to recaptured Inquisitors, she wondered, feeling panic close up her throat. What did they do to the people that had helped them?

Kanan’s fingers were steel around her wrist. “Take Ezra and run.” It was a command, not a suggestion. He had seen the Inquisitor too.

There was a moment more of silence. And then all hell broke loose.

Blaster bolts whizzed through the air, lighting up the dark warehouse. Kanan’s fingers let go of her wrist just as she grabbed Ezra’s and began to run. Her boots squeaked against the duracrete floor and a red bolt slammed where head had been only a moment before.

How. How how how had they known, they should have never come, it was happening again and she was going to lose her family again -

A stormtrooper jumped out from between two stacks of crates. “Halt, Reb-”

Sabine drew her blaster and shot him before he could finish the word. She had to get out of here. She had to escape and keep Ezra safe, keep all of them safe!

Light from outside was streaming in through the loading dock. So were more stormtroopers, their armour blindingly colourless. Sabine switched her path.

There had to be another way out. Another way out. Another way out. Her eyes bounced around, looking for a window, a door. Her chest was tight.

There! A fire exit -

They burst from the building into the bright Concordian sunlight. Sabine blasted both of the stormtroopers that were guarding the door before they had a chance to say anything. They fell to the ground, their wounds smoking but Sabine was already whipping down the nearest alleyway, leaving the warehouse behind.

Ezra was saying something behind her, but she couldn’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. They had to keep moving. They had to keep moving.

Her eyes were burning, loss clogging her throat. 

No! They’d survive! They’d survive like they always did, they’d all meet up and blast off and laugh it off a few weeks from now, safe in a Resistance base. She had to believe that.

She had to.

* * *

Master Windu’s face was as expressive as uncarved stone as he looked over the mission parameters on the datapad. He sat back in his chair like they weren’t in some sort of conference room, an ankle resting on its opposite leg’s knee and his hand covering the lower half of his face, the thumb dragging back and forth along his jawline.

Kleeve tried to mimic him as he waited, leaning back in his own chair like he hadn’t a care in the world. He wondered if Windu’s serenity was as fake as his. He wanted to drum his fingers against the table, or rub his horns, or do another of a hundred things that he did when he was nervous or impatient. But he didn’t, because he wanted Master Windu to actually read what was in front of him. 

He had known the moment that he came onto the Jedi ship that this was the wrong time. Master Windu had been standing outside of the door to the conference room, a Mikkian Jedi that he didn’t recognize standing across from him and radiating anger.

Had it been anyone else, Kleeve would have sworn that Master Windu was angry as well as he looked at the the other Jedi. But then the human male had noticed him standing there and his face had smoothed like nothing had ever been there in the first place. Turning back to the other Jedi, he had clapped her on the shoulder and bent his head close to her ear, speaking in low tones. Kleeve had only just been able to hear part of what he said and had found himself forcing his curiosity back.

 _…talk later._ Two words, and he was distracted. The Knight had left in a hurry, heading towards who knew what. Then Master Windu had turned to him, tucking his hands into his sleeves and inquiring why he had come aboard.

The expression that he had made when Kleeve reminded him of their meeting only made him more curious. It had honestly looked like he had wanted to cancel, but for some reason he had only invited Kleeve into a nearby room. And now here he was, waiting for the man to finish looking over the mission plans. 

Waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Finally, he gave in. He had to do something other than just sit here. “I’ve been talking to my men recently.”

Windu’s dark brown eyes flicked up to him momentarily before going back to the datapad. “Oh?”

“Doctors Aarrrwan and Tigu. Perhaps Knight Nema has mentioned them?”

“I haven’t been able to talk much with her lately, I’m afraid,” Windu said, not looking up this time. “We’ve all been rather busy.”

Kleeve wondered if he was imagining the rather pointed edge to those words. 

“Perhaps that’s why there have been problems, then,” he said. 

Oh, Master Windu was looking at him again. “Oh?”

He definitely wasn’t imagining the pointed tone this time. “The good doctors caught me before I came, complaining that Knight Nema and your other mindhealers haven’t been coordinating with them. They fear that because of that the children have been getting contradictory advice.”

Windu’s expression was placid. “And?”

Kleeve bit back his first irritated reply. “Well,” he noted, “I would think that you would be concerned that they are being properly treated.”

“I have absolute faith in Nema’s treatments.” Windu’s voice was almost chilly, and for a moment so fast that Kleeve could have blinked and missed it, he thought that he could see anger on the man’s face.

“It’s a pity then, that our doctors don’t seem to feel the same.” Despite his statement, Kleeve tried to keep his tone conciliatory. “If perhaps we could discuss a way to improve understanding - perhaps with them working together while treating -”

“No.”

Kleeve sat back in his chair, a little startled at the flat refusal. “No?”

Windu sighed and sat back in his own chair. “General, we will be leaving with the children soon. Do you really think that it’s a good idea to start a new treatment regimen?”

Wait, what? “I’m - sorry, you’re leaving soon?”

“We’ve already spent too much time here as it is.” Windu’s tone was flat and forbidding. “We’ve nearly finished shuffling people around and restocking. After that is done we no longer have any reason to impose on the Resistance.”

Kleeve felt the skein of the conversation slipping away from him. “You are not imposing on the Resistance -” The look on the Jedi master’s face made him close his mouth with a click.

“I am neither blind nor deaf,” Windu said quietly. “None of us are. We know of Draven’s plans, and the complaints of your High Command. We know that they resent being asked for the logic behind their missions, and we know that your Intelligence is frustrated by our refusal to help them with interrogations. And we know that none of them are listening to our reasons. This relationship between our organizations has been fruitful, yes, and we are grateful that we were able to work together to save the children. But it is also very clear to us that this is not a relationship that will last for much longer. So as soon as we are finished reorganizing, we will be taking our leave.”

Kleeve didn’t know what to say. “My apologies,” he finally managed to force out, “I was unaware that tensions had become so unbearable for you and the Order.”

“It has nothing to do with you.” He was looking at the datapad again. “We were expecting this to happen.” He scrolled the information down with a flick of his fingers. “Do you have an exit planned for this mission?”

The abrupt change in topic made Kleeve feel like his head was spinning. “I - It’s in the last sub-folder.” Reaching up, he rubbed at the bases of his horns. “Have you informed anyone else that you’ll be leaving?”

“You are the first.” Windu tapped at the screen. “Ah. I see it now.”

Kleeve rubbed his face. The Jedi. Leaving. He went over his previous interactions with the Jedi, trying to see where he may have pushed them away. He had rather thought that they had gotten along well, his own men praising them constantly in the after-action reports -

He leaned forward. “If you wish,” he began carefully, “I could have a word with the Council, explain what’s been going on - explain how helpful you’ve been during our joint missions, get them to back off…”

He trailed off at the look on Windu’s face. “We are leaving, General Kleeve,” the human said, radiating disapproval like a strict teacher who’s been purposefully given the wrong answer by the class clown. “It has already been decided. Please respect that.”

Kleeve sat back in his chair, stung. 

Several minutes passed in silence. What else could he say, in the face of such firmness?

Finally, though, Windu lowered the ‘pad, handing it back. “I will say that it looks to be a good plan,” he said, pulling out his own from somewhere in his voluminous robes. “I hope that you don’t mind that I sent a copy to myself.”

Kleeve had to swallow a few times before he could answer. “I’m glad to hear that - and don’t worry, it’s fine. Can I assume then that you’ll be helping us?” _One last time?_

“As with all of the other times, General, I cannot give you a definite answer,” Windu said, standing up and straightening his robes. “I will certainly bring it up as soon as possible with the rest of the Council, though.”

Why had he been expecting a different answer, this time? Kleeve stood up as well, and held out his hand. “I hope to hear from you soon, then, Master Jedi.”

Windu’s hand was warm and dry. “May the Force be with you, General.”

After that, there was not much of a reason to stick around. Kleeve walked down the hall and turned the corner, his head buzzing as he made his way to the entrance of the ship. The Jedi were leaving. Leaving, after everything they’d accomplished together. Gods be good, how was he going to explain this to the Council? He had been the one charged with bringing the Jedi closer to the Resistance after Dromund Kaas had shown their efficacy, and he hadn’t even had an inkling that they were so affected by Draven and his minions’ comments -

Just as he was within sight of the loading ramp, there was a shout of pain.

Kleeve whipped his head around. That had come from the room that he’d just been in…

His feet were moving before he even realized it. He raced through the corridors, his heart pounding in his ears -

Turning the corner, he saw Master Windu’s crumpled form lying on the polished metal floor. Racing to the older man, he fell to his knees and turned the man over, feeling for a pulse.

His face was pale, his eyes half-closed and only showing the whites. As Kleeve felt again and again for the man’s vitals, he saw his mouth moving, like was trying to say something.

 _Daah…d-daah…_ The horrible rasp reminded Kleeve of a death rattle.

There was a shout from behind him. Turning his head, he was unable to stop two armoured clones from tearing him away from the man. Shoved roughly back, he was caught by an unfamiliar pair of hands. 

The grim green face of Master Unduli greeted him as he turned around. “Master -” he began.

Only to be cut off with a sharp jerk as he was dragged away from the scene. “I think, General, that it would be best if you left now.”

Kleeve looked over his shoulder before they turned the corner. The clones had Master Windu on his back, and were pulling away his top from his chest. Another clone skidded around the opposite corner, holding a white case. Then they were around the corner and he could see no more.

“Master Unduli, is he -”

They were practically trotting through the hallway now. “I do not believe that this is a time for conversation.” Master Unduli’s voice was chilly. They had reached the exit, and then she finally slowed down. Grabbing his other shoulder, she pulled him around to face her. 

“General Kleeve,” she said, her voice low and serious. “We would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from speaking about this to the Resistance.”

“I - certainly, but what happened -”

“Good.”

And then he was outside, the ramp retracting behind him. Blinking in the bright Yavinese sunlight, Kleeve only saw a few X-Wing mechanics, working on a nearby ship. She looked at him in mild curiosity, cocking her head to one side.

He wanted to do the same. Hell, he wanted to turn around and slam his fist onto the hull of this ship until the Jedi came back out and answered some questions -

But he didn’t. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away, his head whirling like it was caught in a maelstrom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the main thrust of the plot finally gets going! Let me know what you guys thought in the comments!


	5. Uh Oh

Luminara stared down at Master Windu, her nails digging into her arms. Hooked up to several beeping machines, a breathing mask fitted over his face, the man had never looked so small to her.

She clenched her jaw. Tearing her eyes away from the man in the bed, she looked at the other members of the Council. In their faces, she could see her own worry reflected back.

Obi-Wan was stroking his greyed beard, a deep furrow between his eyebrows. “You say you found General Kleeve with him?”

Luminara thinned her lips. “Yes,” she admitted, feeling her stomach churn, “I did.”

Silence met her statement. Luminara knew what they all were thinking; the same thoughts were bouncing around in her skull too.

General Kleeve was one of their greatest allies in the Resistance. Calm and patient, he didn’t push them like Draven. He didn’t treat them like servants, as even Senator Mothma did on occasion. When they asked to see mission outlines before committing to them, he had acquiesced. When they refused several missions, he had accepted that and not pressed them further. Quite frankly, Luminara had liked him, and found herself somewhat saddened that the Order would be moving on soon.

But now…

Master Windu had told them that he would be informing Kleeve about their departure in this meeting. And then he was found on the floor, poisoned, with Kleeve kneeling beside him, rifling through his robes. 

Had he snapped and attacked Windu? Luminara did not want to believe that the man she tentatively thought of as a friend would have done something like that, but she had wanted to believe better of people before this and been bitterly disappointed.

“It’s hard to believe that a non-Jedi would have been able to get the drop on a Master like this,” Obi-Wan pointed out, still stroking his beard. 

“But not impossible,” Master Ti noted softly. 

“Improbable, though,” Rancisis said, his voice as quiet as Ti’s. 

There was a soft whoosh of the door opening behind Luminara, making her turn her head. Muscles in her back that she hadn’t realized were tense relaxed as she saw who it was, though.

Nema paused only for a heartbeat in the doorway as she saw that the entire Council had crammed itself into the small private room in Will of the Whills medbay before stepping in and closing the door behind her. She was holding a datapad, and there were dark cirles underneath her eyes, but she looked triumphant. “I have found it. I know what Master Windu was poisoned with.”

Luminara sucked in a breath. “What is it?”

Nema flipped her datapad around to show them a chemical model, a complicated name underneath it.

“That looks suspiciously like Spice,” Obi-Wan said with narrowed eyes. 

“An extract, refined from a Devaronian orchid that thrives in Spice mines,” Nema explained. “Most often found in high-strength painkillers.”

“A Devaronian orchid, you say?” Kcaj said slowly. His eyes slid over to Luminara.

She frowned at him. “That means nothing,” she said. “Just because his species comes from the same planet doesn’t mean that he was the one to use it.”

“Perhaps,” Kcaj gave her. “Perhaps. High-strength painkillers are not exactly within most people’s grasp, though.”

“I agree. This isn’t something that most people can get their hands on. However, I believe that military generals are included in ‘most people’, in this case.”

“I’m going to have to side with Master Unduli on this one, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan butted in. “I can’t think of why General Kleeve would be carrying around a hypospray full of painkillers.”

“Then who else could it be?” Rancisis asked, the tip of his tail twitching anxiously. “Who would stand to gain from Master Windu’s death?”

The question hung in the air, making Luminara want to shift to get away from it. Because they all knew the answer to that.

If it wasn’t General Kleeve, then it would have to be one of them. 

No one else of the Resistance made a habit of visiting their ship; frankly, none of them were comfortable letting non-Jedi into their living spaces, something that the Resistance seemed to sense and respect. General Kleeve, with his mission outlines, was the only one to come onboard regularly.

So if it wasn’t him that injected Master Windu with the poison, then it could only be one of their own that did. And Luminara didn’t want to believe that someone she knew would do something like that. She didn’t want to believe that someone she knew would think that they had a reason for doing that.

But she would be lying to herself. She knew exactly why one of their own would attack Master Windu.

Saving the children from Dromund Kaas had only been the beginning of their work. It had felt so good at the time, seeing the children safe and recovering, but soon after she and the rest of the Council had become aware of the challenges surrounding bringing the children into the Order. 

There were the normal difficulties; where would the children sleep, what would they eat, who would teach them the basics before they were chosen by a Master, etcetera. And then there were the more disappointing difficulties.

The Jedi Order had fractured in their long exile, forming cliques that ranged in their attitudes towards tradition. And at one end of a very large spectrum, there was a group of Knights and Masters that stubbornly insisted on continuing on like nothing had changed since the Fall of the Temple. 

Including the age cutoff.

It had started with simple grumbling and some standoffishness with the children. It had quickly escalated to shouting matches, however, once the members of the clique had realized that the Council was serious about bringing the children in as padawans. 

Master Windu had dismissed them repeatedly, brushing aside their arguments. He had pointed out, repeatedly and in public, the necessity of having a new generation to pass Jedi teachings onto regardless of the age they started their training. But the reactionaries had not been easily soothed, and their grumbling had been getting louder now that they would be leaving soon.

Luminara took a deep breath and let it out. Turning to Nema, she forced herself to smile at the younger woman. “Thank you for letting us know what you found, Knight Nema,” she said, gently taking the datapad from her. “However, we need to discuss things further, and I’m sure that you have other work that you need to be doing.”

“I - yes, you’re right, Master Unduli,” Nema replied. Her eyes bounced between the members of the Council, all of who had turned to her. “One of my patients has some physical therapy they need help with.” Turning, she opened the door before pausing once more in the doorway. “I will keep you all appraised of Master Windu’s condition,” she said, half-turning back to them. 

“Thank you.” Luminara dipped her head at the other woman, who nodded and then let the door slide shut behind her, leaving them all alone in the room.

“Arguments over who is responsible won’t do any good without an investigation,” Master Ti said, not waiting for Luminara to turn back around. “We need to start questioning people. Looking at records and holos as to what Master Windu was working on before the attack.”

“I agree,” Obi-Wan said. “I believe Master Windu had a datapad, in fact. That might be a good place to start. Luminara, did he have it with him when you found him?”

Luminara thought hard. Seeing their Grand Master on the ground had been terrifying, making her feel like an Initiate again, and honestly she had mostly been focused on making sure that Kleeve wouldn’t be hanging around to see the mess that would result from this collapse. However, she was fairly certain that she would have noticed something like a datapad lying around.

“No,” she said slowly, reaching up to stroke her own chin. “No, there was no datapad there.”

“It sounds then like we have a place to start,” Kcaj said.

* * *

Fenn kept his face still and his breathing steady as he passed through the doors of the Imperial base, even as his heart thudded in his chest like it was about to leap out. His holdout blaster, hidden in his tailored black jacket, felt incredibly heavy.

Why had Saxon called him here? The Protectors swept the room for bugs three times a day and they hadn’t discussed the plan outside of them, so he couldn’t possibly know about their plans - could he? 

No. Stay calm, he ordered himself. He’s probably just trying to scare you into giving him an excuse to sic his attack dogs on you.

The words sounded weak in his head as he passed through the brushed durasteel doors. Stepping inside the massive lobby of the building, he was struck by the starkness of the interior, as he always was in Imperial buildings. White walls towered over him, hitting the ceiling in right angles. The floor was tiled white, with thin black grouting surrounding each tile. Like in Saxon’s office, the only bit of colour was a massive red banner, stretching from floor to ceiling with the Imperial Crest stamped on it in black.

Right in front of the banner, on the opposite side of the lobby from the door, was a blocky black desk with a young woman, her blonde hair tightly pulled back from her face and tucked underneath a cap, sitting behind it. To one side of that desk was a set of stiff-looking black chairs. And sitting in one of the chairs a familiar figure.

“Lady Kryze?” The words slipped from Fenn’s mouth before he could stop them, and he could feel his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. 

Her arms crossed over her chest and one long leg crossed over the other, Bo-Katan Kryze turned her head towards him, a deep furrow between her eyebrows. “Lord Rau. I assume you were summoned as well?” Derision and frustration dripped from the word ‘summoned’. 

He slowed down and stopped as he reached the chairs. Paradoxically, despite their often-violent history with each other, he found himself calming down as he came closer. Saxon, he knew, was not the sort to bring up two enemies at once if he was about to have them arrested. No, he was a smug hutuun who liked to linger. If they had both been called, then they were probably okay.

He’d be a smug hutuun, but they’d be okay.

“Yes,” Fenn said, “I was summoned as well, though I do not know why. I don’t suppose that he gave you an explanation?”

Kryze made a low, frustrated growl in her throat and sank further into her chair. “Saxon? Explain himself to us lowly warriors? You must have hit your head on the way here.”

There wasn’t much that Fenn could say to that. He thinned his lips and walked over to the desk, clearing his throat to get the receptionist’s attention.

“Please take a seat, Viceroy Saxon will be with you in a moment.” The woman didn’t even look up from her display. 

Fenn clenched his jaw. Jackass power play. He turned and did as the woman had said, keeping an empty chair between him and Kryze. 

Staring at an empty white wall for half an hour was not a fun experience. When he had previously visited, he’d at least been allowed through to sit directly outside of the man’s office, where there’d been some art. Here, though, there was nothing. Just the cold, impersonal colourlessness of the Empire.

Finally, though, the receptionist looked up. “Viceroy Saxon will see both of you now.”

Fenn couldn’t keep a relieved sigh from escaping his lips as he stood up. Beside him, Kryze was silent as she smoothed the wrinkles from her dark blue suit. Walking past him towards the door leading deeper into the base, her heels clicked against the tiled floor, flashing their bright blue soles with every step. He followed behind her, giving the receptionist a tight nod as he passed. She wasn’t at fault because her boss was an asshole, and he had always prided himself on paying attention to those outside of the noble class.

The hallway to Saxon’s office was the same as the last seven times he’d come to it. Same plush carpet, same Neo-Crusader mural, same uncomfortable chairs outside. Unlike the other seven times, though, there were four guards standing at attention outside of the doors, two on each side. 

This time, Fenn kept his eyebrow from raising. Internally, though, he wondered. Had something rattled Saxon? Peeking out of the corner of his eye, he only saw the same blank expression on Kryze’s face as he had. 

As the drew close, one of the guards stepped forward, holding out a hand for them to halt. “Names?”

Kryze looked unimpressed. “Saxon knows damn well who we are. He’s the one that called us here. Stop with the showboating and let us in.”

Not how Fenn would have handled it, but then again, he hadn’t heard of her having any children held hostage by the Empire.

The guards’ faces were entirely covered by their helmets, but they looked at each other anyway. One of them on the left placed his hand on the stock of his blaster.

Fenn narrowed his eyes, his holdout blaster suddenly very heavy in its hidden pocket. Technically, the weapon wasn’t allowed in here, but Fenn had brought it anyway. If Saxon was going to try and take him out, then Fenn was not going down without a fight.

Movement out of the corner of his eye had his attention snapping back to his right. 

The first guard pressed two fingers to the side of his helmet and cocked his head to one side. That could be good, or it could be bad.

The guard lowered his hand and stepped aside. “Go in. He’s expecting you.” 

Alright. Good, Fenn supposed.

Kryze rolled her eyes. 

The inside of Saxon’s office was the same as last time. Same desk, same banner, same blank white walls. The only difference was that instead of sitting in his chair and waiting for them, Saxon was standing and staring out the large window that lined the back wall.

Fenn glanced at Kryze out of the corner of his eye and saw that she looked to be resisting the urge to roll her eyes as well.

“I suppose that you’re wondering why I called you two here today,” Saxon finally said after a minute. 

And yes, Kryze had lost the battle with her urge to eye-roll. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shifted her weight so that one hip was cocked out. “We were somewhat curious, yes. I had rather gotten the impression from our previous meetings that you had planned to fill us in on the Empire’s decisions during the summit proper.”

Saxon turned his head and smirked. “You would be correct.” Turning more fully he walked to his desk and tapped a button, making a hologram spring into existence. 

At first, Rau thought that the hologram was showing some sort of insect hive. Winding white lines twisted and curved and crossed, leading to bulges and other corridors and sometimes nowhere at all. Then he saw the faint, dotted outline of the mountain wrapped around it and understood.

“Why are you showing us the Viszla compound?”

Saxon tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Because both of you have information on this compound that the Empire is very interested in.”

Kryze scoffed low in her throat. “Information? What, has the Empire become incapable of picking up a history book? You could pick up any one that was published within the last century and have the basic blueprints.”

A snort was her answer to that statement. “Please,” Saxon drawled, “we both know that those blueprints barely cover the entranceway. No, what I need is information on all those little shut-up hallways that only old allies -” his eyes flicked over to Fenn “- and those personally close to members of Clan Viszla would know.”

“Close?” Kryze’s voice was low and full of a simmering anger. Saxon’s eyes flicked back to the woman, and Fenn was grateful.

Old allies. Now when had a meathead like Saxon dug that up? House Rau had been allies with House Viszla for a long time, yes; as the traditional guards of the Mand’alor, and with House Viszla producing the Last Mand’alor, it was unavoidable. Memories were long on Mandalore, and hoarded like beskar, and Tarre Viszla was a legendary figure for a reason.

Long didn’t mean eternal though. The rise of House Kryze and its Republic backing had simply finished off the dying beast that was their alliance a century and a half ago. If Saxon had dug up information on that old alliance then he had to know that the information that had been passed down to Fenn from his mother had been centuries out of date, showing only the lowest passages and rooms of the complex that had been the first to be carved out. So then why…?

“Knocking boots. Making the beast with two backs. Whatever cute little euphemism you prefer.” The smirk that always seemed to be haunting the corners of Saxon’s mouth had risen from the dead. “Pre Viszla was the last member of Clan Viszla proper, and you Lady Kryze were known to share his bed. And unfortunately, he was not known for record-keeping. So if anyone was to have any up-to-date information on the compound, it would be you.”

Kryze was dead white except for two spots of colour, high on her cheekbones. “You have a funny way of asking for help, Saxon,” she hissed out through clenched teeth.

“Oh, I’m not the one asking for help. The Empire is.”

“And why, precisely, is the Empire interested at all?” 

Saxon turned back to Fenn and raised his eyebrows in fake surprise. “Oh, Lord Rau. I had almost forgotten that you were here too.”

Fenn pushed down a surge of irritation and waited.

Shrugging, Saxon turned off the holo and clapped his hands together. “What, the Empire can’t want to help us reclaim our heritage?”

“I am fairly certain that they can help us do so without looting the property of one of our oldest houses,” Kryze growled.

Saxon scoffed. “So instead we should just allow all of those artifacts to rot in a dusty old compound?” He took a step towards them, tilting his chin arrogantly. “The Empire intends to put these artifacts on display for the public, rather than sequestering them away like they’re holy artifacts. An intention that I happen to agree with. The artifacts will be tabulated and put on display for all to see, not just one clan. The entire galaxy will be reminded of when it trembled at our feet.”

Fenn clenched his jaw. ‘For all to see’? Even _aruetii_ , with no idea of the importance of each piece? And just so happened to put the control of Mandalorian culture in the hands of the Empire? From the tightness in Kryze’s jaw, he knew that she saw what the Empire was trying to do as well. It wasn’t enough that they had slaughtered those brave enough to speak out against their attempts to make Imperial schooling mandatory, rather than the traditional House schools. They had to have even more control, taking the artifacts that meant the most from their keepers and putting them in glass cases to be gawked at by any passerby, with only a small card to try and explain its importance to the greater tapestry of Mandalorian culture.

That was why they wanted House Rau’s records, he realized now. They wanted to do exactly as Kryze had accused them; loot the Viszla compound down to the floor studs. And that would be how it started; first, with an extinct clan. Then the weaker clans, and then finally the Great Houses, their culture stripped and watered down until it was being mimicked by Core World teenagers in an attempt to be ‘edgy’. For if they controlled Mandalorian history, then they controlled the Mandalorians themselves.

“Put on display,” Kryze growled. “The artifacts within the Viszla compound are not little trinkets to be gawked at by the _aruetii_. Would you put the Darksaber on display as well, once it is found? Perhaps even the Mask of Mandalore, should the stories of the Last Mand’alor’s tomb be true?”

Behind them, the door swooshed open. Fenn saw Saxon’s eyes move to see who was coming in, a slow smirk starting to curl at the corners of his mouth. 

Immediately, Fenn turned around to see who was putting such an expression on the other man’s face. When he did see who it was, though, he found himself frozen in place.

The tall figure of the Grand Inquisitor stood in the doorway for a moment before entering. His steps calm and unhurried, he strolled over to them, his eyes narrowed like a pleased tooka. “Viceroy Saxon. I assume that you have explained the the Empire’s plans for the Viszla compound?”

“That I have.” Saxon radiated smugness.

The Grand Inquisitor had reached the desk by the time Fenn remembered how to breathe. “That’s good. And their answers?”

And just like that, Fenn forgot how to breathe again. It had been the Grand Inquisitor that had lead the Purge. It was the Grand Inquisitor that spoke for the Empire. If Saxon -

“Oh, we’ve just been having a bit of a debate.” Saxon casually crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against his desk. “They’re a little concerned that the Empire will be able to properly care for the Mandalorian artifacts that it will be helping curate.” He nodded to Kryze, still smirking. “Lady Kryze here was especially concerned about that.”

The Grand Inquisitor blinked once, the corners of his mouth curling up. “Oh really?” He turned his head towards the woman.

Kryze, to her credit, met his gaze despite the paleness of her skin. “Mandalore’s history belongs to Mandalore, not the Empire. Our culture is not something to be put on display for outsiders to gawk at.”

Despite not having eyebrows, the Grand Inquisitor managed to raise one at her. “Really? You will not accept any help from the Empire in reclaiming your heritage?”

“It is our heritage, not yours. We will be the ones to reclaim it, not _aruetii_.”

The Grand Inquisitor hummed, his smile not moving. Fenn’s stomach was churning now. “A pity.” His hands, which had been folded behind his back, relaxed, There was something in one of them that he raised to shoulder level. “I suppose then that you won’t be wanting this back, since it’s been touched by outsider hands.”

Fenn recognized what the object was a moment before the black blade of plasma that gave it its name ignited, crackling with energy. The name slipped from his lips in a reverent whisper.

“The Darksaber.”

The Grand Inquisitor grinned, revealing sharp, predatory teeth. “Retrieved from its thief in a joint operation between the Mandalorian Supercommandos and the Empire.” He turned the blade off and stretched his arm towards Saxon. “And returned to the leader of Mandalore, as is traditional.”

The greedy look in Saxon’s eyes as he took the weapon made Fenn want to vomit. The Darksaber was not something that could simply be gifted to the Empire’s puppet. This was a mockery of everything -

His skin prickled. Looking back at the Grand Inquisitor, he saw the careful gaze of a predator, waiting for its prey to make a mistake. 

This was a test. A test designed to weed out those that would make trouble. A test that would mark his clan for death if he failed it. 

The words that Fenn was about to say died in his throat. He was already involved in treason with his plan to steal Imperial access codes. He was already known for his dislike of the Empire. If he made a fuss about this, he could draw down even more surveillance on his people, destroying the plan to get the access codes before it even began.

He couldn’t afford that.

So he didn’t say anything as Saxon clipped the ancient sword to his belt. Neither did Kryze.

There was a long silence.

Finally, the Grand Inquisitor broke it, his voice low and amused. “Considering what has been achieved already, I don’t suppose that you would reconsider your stances?”

Fenn ground his teeth, shame burning at the back of his throat. “Of course,” he gritted out. He turned and looked at Saxon, his ears burning with a mix of rage and humiliation. “I’ll have to call back home to have the blueprints sent here. It will take some time.”

Saxon was grinning, and Fenn wanted to smash those shiny teeth down his throat until he choked on them. “But of course. Perhaps during when the summit begins its meeting proper?”

His jaw was aching. “Of course.”

“And Lady Kryze?” The Grand Inquisitor’s voice was smooth. 

Risking a glance out of the corner of his eye, Fenn saw that Kryze’s jaw was as tight as his.

“It will take some time to write it all down,” she finally said.

“Of course.” Saxon sounded oh so gracious. “You can give it to me at the same time as Rau.”

There was another pause, and then Saxon turned away. “I’ll leave you to your work, then,” he said. “The guards will show you out.”

A heavy set of hands attached to guards landed on Fenn’s shoulders, tugging him around and starting to march him and Kryze to the door.

Fenn could feel the Grand Inquisitor’s gaze on him even after the door closed behind them.

* * *

Sabine ran until her chest burned. She ran until her legs felt like they would give out. She ran until Ezra was crying for her to stop, and still felt like she hadn’t run far enough.

Finally, though, Ezra dug in his heels and forced her to stop. In a narrow alleyway, the walls of the building on either side blocking out the sun, she stopped running. Her mind didn’t, though.

How. How had they been found? This was supposed to be a milk run. A quick in and out. 

Ezra was digging his nails into her arm. “Sabine. Sabine, that was an Inquisitor back there.”

Sabine squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. “I know.” She knew the uniform of an Imperial Inquisitor intimately. The black memories of before, of being walked back to the Imperial Academy’s laboratories with the Grand Inquisitor’s hand on her shoulder and his low, amused voice in her ears clawed at the inside of her skull.

She would never forget that. 

“That was the Fifth Brother,” Ezra whimpered.

Sabine sucked in a breath, her eyes flying open. She turned her head to Ezra and for the first time saw the fear in his eyes. The fingers that were digging into her arm were attached to a trembling hand.

“What if - what if he got them?” Ezra continued, his eyes wet. He bit his lower lip. “If an Inquisitor was there, that means that they know that Kanan’s a J-”

Sabine clapped a hand over his mouth. “Shh!” she hissed. “Not here!” She was trembling too, she realized now. 

Ezra stared up at her, a few tears slipping out. She loosened her hand from his mouth and he began to talk again. “But if an Inquisitor was there - they’re only called for Force-sensitives -”

“Not necessarily.” She had to focus. She had to keep it together. “During - during the purges, the Grand Inquisitor was here, and that had nothing to do with Force stuff. And they’ve attacked Resistance bases before. It might just be something like that.”

Ezra sniffed and wiped at his eyes. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Sabine said, her voice far steadier than how she felt. “Yeah, it has to be that.”

Her comm unit crackled, making her jump. “Specters Five and Six, come in. Are you there?”

Both she and Ezra reached for the comm at the same time. A few seconds of scrabbling and two cases of nearly dropping the unit later and Sabine managed to lift it to her lips, Ezra pressed tight to her side. “Yes, yes! Specter One, we’re both here. How about you, are all of you there!”

She listened, her heart hammering in her chest, dreading and hope warring in her head. 

There was a low, relieved-sounding sigh. “Good. Yes, we’re all here. Where are you? We’re leaving ASAP before this goes KUBAR any more.”

It was then and only then that Sabine actually looked up from the ground of the alleyway. 

They were in an abandoned alleyway, true. The dull duracrete walls stretched up above them towards the sky, blocking out everything except for a narrow strip of blue. A few small garbage cans, buzzing with flies. On either side, people passed by with barely a glance, their heads down. Tucking an arm around Ezra’s shoulders, she began to guide him towards one of the mouths so that they could get a better look.

Outside of the alleyway told her nothing more of where she was. It was a slightly more rundown section of the city, it looked like, but that was about it. 

Stepping back into the mouth of the alleyway, Sabine swallowed before answering. “Uh, I’m not quite sure,” she said slowly. “We’re currently in an alleyway. I - I was just trying to get us away -”

“It’s alright, Specter Five.” Kanan’s words stopped the shame beginning to curdle in her gut in its tracks. “It’s alright. Do you think that you can find out where you are and get back to the ship?”

It was getting easier to breathe, now, Kanan’s warm voice calming her like it always did. “Yeah. No reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Good. Get back here as soon as you can -”

There was a loud, mechanical clank and then a booming, static-filled voice. “IMPERIAL CITIZEN, PLEASE PRESENT YOUR PAPERS.”

Oh god. Sabine whirled around and pushed Ezra behind her automatically, her heart rate jumping right back up until it felt like it was going to jump out of her chest. 

Towering over her, the blank white lights that served as the Imperial security droid’s eyes stared down at her pitilessly. Stretching out an over-long arm, it repeated itself. “PAPERS PLEASE.”

“I, uh,” Sabine stuttered, patting herself down and trying not to drop her comm at the same time. Behind her, she could feel the cloth of her shirt twisting in Ezra’s grip. Where had they put those papers? “Is there a problem? Sir?” Could she possibly get her blasters out in time? She glanced around to judge the likelihood of anyone interfering.

No one was looking at them. Their heads down, people hurried past with frightened looks on their faces. There’d be no help from them.

Damn it, where were those papers? They’d had them on their way here -

Sabine’s hands stilled. No. They hadn’t had those papers - Hera had had those papers. 

The comm unit crackled, letting out a code of beeps. Are you okay?

Sabine swallowed and looked up at the black chassis of the security droid’s head. “Um, this is really embarrassing. See, we were with our parents and we got separated -”

“PAPERS PLEASE.”

Damn it. Damn it. Sabine backed up, pushing Ezra along with her. They had to get out of here. “When I say ‘here’,” she said softly, keeping her eyes on the droid, “run. Don’t look back, just run.”

“But Sabine -” Ezra hissed.

“Don’t argue with me, just run.” She flashed a weak smile at the droid, casually reaching down to her belt. “Sorry, sir, my papers are just - HERE!” She whipped out her blasters, fingers on the triggers -

“ATTACK DETECTED.”

The black fist of the droid slammed into her gut hard enough to make her choke.

“SABINE!” 

She stumbled back, trying to raise her blasters again, only to catch the back of the droid’s other hand across her face. She hit the ground and for a heartbeat everything was black before snapping back into being. There was a crackling noise now. Like a shock-stick.

“- stay away from her!”

Stupid. Stupid. Why wasn’t Ezra running.

The edges of her vision were going grey, and she couldn’t seem to get her arms and legs to move. Run Ezra. Why aren’t you running.

The crackling got louder. And then Ezra started screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Thank you so much for all of your comments, I appreciate them so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter - shit's really starting to go down. See you guys in the next year!


	6. Hiding

“Missing?”

The clone that was currently in charge of the security for the Will of the Whills cringed at Luminara’s tone. “Missing, ma’am. The files for the time that you’re asking for are missing.” Turning in his seat, he gestured towards the display. “See?”

Gripping the arm of the clone’s seat, Luminara bent over to get a better look at the display. She saw columns upon columns of vid files, all in order by date and time - and there, right where the files that she was looking for should be, there was nothing. 

She wasn’t the type to curse out loud, but inside of her head she let loose a blistering tirade. 

“I see,” she said, straightening back up. The clone flinched again. Noting the reaction, she took a breath and calmed herself. A Jedi Master did not berate someone for the actions of others. “I see,” she repeated, her voice calmer now. “This - is not good. Who else has access to this system, aside from you?”

The clone (she really needed to learn the boy’s name) was a young one, obviously decanted after the second battle of Kamino. He bit his lower lip, his eyes skittering away from her. “Uh, well, technically, only us clones and a few of the Jedi masters, but in all honesty…” He trailed off, squirming in his seat.

Behind her, Luminara could feel the displeasure coming off of Gree in waves at the younger clone’s lack of formality. Her old commander had become a stickler for protocol after everything that had happened, and she had endured more than one rant from him on the topic of the younger clone’s lack thereof. While the boy was looking away, she shot him a warning look; it would do no good to yell at him now.

“We need honesty right now, young…?” She left the question hanging, prompting him for an answer.

“Oh, uh, Static, sir,” the now-named Static said, briefly meeting her eyes before looking away again. “Er, like I was saying, in theory only those of us assigned to this post have access to the security feeds for the ship. In all honesty, though, no one’s every really expected much trouble, so uh, security’s gotten a little, um…” He scratched at his ear, his eyes firmly on his lap. “It wouldn’t be hard for someone to get in here and erase the files, is what I’m saying.”

Luminara shut her eyes, breathed, and then opened them again. “Alright then. That is - not optimal.”

“You’re damn right it isn’t,” Gree growled from behind her. “When your shift is over -”

“Gree.” This time, Luminara didn’t look over her shoulder, trusting her voice to carry her displeasure. She instead kept her eyes on the clone in front of her. “Static. Considering that you are the security officer of this ship, do you at least have a list of the Jedi that are currently on this ship?”

Static started in his seat, wringing his hands. “A list - yeah, yeah, I totally have a list! Just give me a second and I’ll be able to give you one with everyone that was on Yavin, even!”

Luminara paused. Now why hadn’t she thought of that? _Will of the Whills_ was far from the only Jedi ship currently on base, of course she would need to check the others as well. Placing a hand on the clone’s shoulder, she gave it an approving squeeze. “Well thought,” she praised. “I’ll need that information as well.”

Static flashed her a nervous smile before turning back to the display and calling up a list of names. “You should thank Commander Jab, he was the one to come up with the idea of having people sign in and out whenever they were coming down.”

“Perhaps we will,” Gree said, still sounding a little threatening. This time, though, Static didn’t falter. Names were filling the display now, picked out in black against the bluish-white background.

“Anyways,” Static continued, “not going to lie, there’s been a lot of visitors down here lately; a lot of Jedi wanting to get to know the kids before they come aboard and everything. I don’t envy your job, Master Unduli, but hopefully this will at least give you a starting - huh.”

Luminara, who had been watching the display fill up with names, gave Static a sharp look. “Huh?”

Static was staring down at a smaller display, frowning and chewing on his lower lip. “Sorry, Master, I was just cross-checking the messaging system with the names and something popped out at me.” Minimizing the compiling list, he moved the messaging system to the main display and squinted at it. “I think - I think that there’s been another deletion here…”

“Well that doesn’t mean much,” Gree interrupted, “people delete messages after reading them all the time.”

Static glance back at him, looking annoyed. “I’m sorry, are you the security specialist here?” he asked, seemingly forgetting his previous fear of the the older clone.

Gree glared at him and he shrank back, the fear clearly returning. “I - I mean, it’s been deleted unusually.” Turning back to the display, he shrank into himself again. “When you delete a message, you don’t delete it entirely. A copy is saved in the databanks for later. But when I discovered the missing vid files, I started checking all of our other databases with a background program, and it looks like whoever went through the vids to delete evidence also went through the saved messages.”

Luminara frowned. “How can you tell it was the same person?”

“They’ve disguised precisely who it was, but the messages and the vids were deleted from the same terminal,” Static said. He pointed to a small set of words trailing along the bottom of the display, pure gibberish to Luminara’s untrained eye. “This one, in fact. During -” he leaned forward and squinted again “- during security’s lunch break.”

“You all break for lunch at the same time?” Gree asked increduously. 

“Gree, now is not the time.” Luminara leaned over and squinted at the display alongside Static. “Do you usually take lunch at the same time?”

“Yeah, why?”

Luminara tapped a finger on the back of his chair. “That could mean a certain amount of planning - that this was not a crime of passion…” She trailed off, the implications rising up from the black depths of her mind like some deep-sea creature.

She had known for a long time of the fractures within the Order. Of the arguments, and how they had only been rising with the rapidly-approaching adoption of the children from Dromund Kaas. But it had been almost - normal, at this point in the Order’s exile. Expected. Council members had always been able to shame or otherwise control things, but if things were getting to the point that not even a Council member was safe…

No. No, she would not let her imagination get away from her. She would follow the facts, not her worries. Straightening back up, she folded her hands in front of her. “Would you be able to send the files to me when they’re done compiling?” she asked. 

Static looked up at her worriedly. “Yeah, but -”

Thankfully, before she had to say any of her fears out loud, her commlink chimed. “Please do so as soon as possible,” she said. “I’m afraid that I have to take this call.”

Outside of the room, she flicked the comm on. “Master Unduli speaking.”

“Ah, good, just the woman I wanted to speak to.” General Kleeve’s static-filled tones crackled from the comm’s speaker. “I wanted to ask after Master Windu, since he collapsed -”

Luminara thought very fast in the split second between words. 

The Council, in all the fuss of the collapse itself, had not discussed what to tell those outside of the Order. An oversight that was coming home to roost. 

Kleeve knew that only Jedi and some of the children came aboard their ships, with him as the sole member of the Resistance that was occasionally welcomed. Saying that it was an attack would logically lead to the conclusion that it was a Jedi that attacked Master Windu, which would in turn lead to the exposure of the fractures within the Order; an exposure of weakness. Something that could be turned against them, to force them into submission within the Resistance, to be thrown back into the meat grinder that was war -

Calm. Calm. She was a Jedi Master. 

“Yes, that was rather frightening,” Luminara said into the comm unit, ignoring the questioning look that Gree was shooting at her. “Thankfully, it seems that it was just Master Windu not taking care of himself, rather than something more serious.”

Kleeve was silent for a long second before replying. “That’s good to hear, then. Do you have any idea of when he’ll be back on his feet?”

“I’m afraid that that’s up to the doctors,” Luminara said, forcing a note of regret into her voice. “Aside from that, though, did you have another reason for calling?”

“Yes, actually,” Kleeve said, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. “In our meeting, we were only briefly able to talk about it, but our doctors for the children have been having some questions about linking up treatment for them?”

“You wish to speak of it in more detail, then?”

“If at all possible,” Kleeve said.

Technically, she should be investigating on the ship. However - it might be good if she could talk to Kleeve. Subtly question him about what he saw. It could help narrow down the list of suspects.

“I have an hour or so free,” Luminara said. “Would now be alright?”

* * *

Jai had followed through with what he discussed with Master Unduli, volunteering with the other recyclers on base. They had actually been really happy when he had asked to join them; their leader, a Quarren name Volon, had said that they always needed more people who knew their way around technology. According to him, too many of the Resistance proper were Core-World types, who just threw out old things when they broke, and didn’t know the first thing about how to mod a piece of tech.

Well, how he had said it involved a lot more swearing, but that was the general gist of it. 

So now here he was, sitting in a small alcove in Yavin Base’s main hangar, shifting his way through a pile of old, broken datapads. His job today was sorting through the large pile of the things, seeing which ones just needed an easy repair or new part, and which ones were so broken that all they could do was supply the parts for the first group. It was slow, kind of boring work, but it was something to do, and it gave Jai a sense of satisfaction to contribute to the Resistance. 

“Hey. Jai, was it?”

And sometimes, people visited him. Looking up from the datapad that he was going through, Jai recognized the man standing across from him and smiled. “Uh, hey. Yeah, that’s me. Kyle, right?” The words were empty - he knew exactly who it was.

The older, muscular boy stepped into the alcove in an oddly hesitant way, looking at the piles of junk surrounding them. Jai hadn’t really seen him around after the lunch with Master Unduli and his argument with the Togruta Jedi. The loud argument, about whether or not he was going to be a Jedi.

Jai stomped the memory down. Now was not the time. “How can I help you?”

Kyle reached up and scratched the back of his neck. “I just signed up with a team and got a blaster, but I was looking for some possible mods? I was told that it was better to come to the recyclers than the supply officers for that sort of stuff.”

“Oh, oh yeah, we have some, I think.” Jai twisted in his chair, looking around the alcove. Volon had mentioned that and showed him the particular place where they kept stuff like that…

There! Jai pointed confidently to a small pile of boxes. “They’re in there, I think. Volon will just want you to leave a note about what you took, though.” Turning, he rummaged through the pile of flimsi he’d been given for notes, trying to find a relatively clean piece. After a few seconds, he found one and handed it to Kyle along with a pen. “Just give it back when you’re done, I’ll make sure Volon gets it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kyle said, taking the items. “Thanks.” He headed over to the boxes and began to rummage through them.

Jai turned back to his own work as well, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate. Kyle was rummaging through the boxes quietly, and Jai’s eyes kept being drawn to him. That argument, that he’d had with the Jedi…

“Hey, uh, Kyle?” 

The older kid looked over his shoulder at him. “Yeah?”

“The other day, I was on the _Will of the Whills_.” Jai fiddled with the datapad; it was really in excellent shape, so excellent that he wondered if it had somehow gotten given to the recyclers by accident. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, or anything, but I kind of ended up overhearing you arguing with one of the Jedi.”

There was a long, thudding heartbeat of silence followed. Then -

“And?”

Looking out of the corner of his eye, Jai saw that Kyle was giving him a challenging look, like he expected Jai to scold him. Jai looked back at his datapad and fiddled with it some more before answering.

“Why -” he paused and cleared his throat, “you seemed pretty angry, there, that’s all. I mean, I get it, people keep assuming that we’re all going to be Jedi -”

“Ah hell,” Kyle muttered, cutting Jai off. He looked up and saw that Kyle was scratching at the back of his neck again. “It wasn’t just that, kid. It was just…” He trailed off, letting his hand fall back on the edge of the mod boxes. “Master Ti just kind of rubbed me the wrong way, when she came to talk. Acting like just because we felt a connection meant that she had some sort of authority over me.”

“Just assuming that of course you’d want to be a Jedi,” Jai murmured.

“Exactly.” Kyle straightened up from his crouch and looked at him again, this time sympathetically. “You been finding the same?”

Jai bit his lower lip. “Not exactly.” He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “It’s more like - I mean, I think I’ve felt that connection thing that you’re talking about with Master Ti, except I kind of have the opposite problem. I mean, I’m not super thrilled that no one’s asked us what we want, but there is one that I’d be okay with calling Master, and -”

A warm hand on his shoulder made him stop babbling mid-stream. Looking up, Jai saw that Kyle was looking down on him now. 

“Hey,” Kyle said quietly, “listen. My problems with Master Ti are my problems alone. Take a deep breath, and then lay it out straight. Are you really upset by the idea of becoming a Jedi?”

Jai swallowed. “No,” he said in a very small voice. “No, not really. But I already know what Master I want.”

Kyle cocked his head to the side. “The Jedi don’t seem to be against people choosing each other.”

“That’s not the problem though.” Jai bit his lower lip again. “I haven’t really asked straight up, but she doesn’t seem to want a student.”

Kyle grimaced. “That sucks,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Jai looked down at his lap. “I just don’t want to be scared anymore,” he admitted. “I want to be strong, to be able to fight back.”

“Then maybe the Jedi are the right choice for you.” Kyle shrugged. “I don’t have all the answers, kid. I just know that I just got my dad back, and I don’t intend to leave him behind for a laser sword.” Letting go of Jai’s shoulder, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, putting it down on the table. “Maybe try talking to the other kids, too. See what their feelings are. Maybe they can help you figure out how to talk to your Jedi.”

Jai shrugged. “I guess so.”

With a final, sympathetic pat on the back, Kyle left, leaving Jai alone with his thoughts. 

Him and some of the other kids were planning to watch a vid they’d begged off some pilots tonight. He didn’t want to bring the mood down, but maybe he should talk to some of them like Kyle suggested. Or would they not want to?

His thoughts were going in circles. This was useless. With a groan, Jai stood up, stuffing the slip of paper from Kyle into his pocket. He’d find Volon to give him the slip and ask about the datapad that he was still holding, and the walk would help clear his head.

Outside, the hangar was bustling like always. Mechanics and pilots rushed around ships, making smugglers bringing in supplies yell at them as they almost toppled over piles of crates on repulsorlifts. Groups of the kids were sitting around near the edges, just talking to each other. A few waved at him as he passed, and he waved back.

Volon was near one of the ships at the back of the hangar, a small Lambda-class shutttle, talking to a pilot and their droid. He saw Jai coming and dismissed them with a gesture.

“Hey Jai,” he gurgled in his usual watery tones. “Got a question?”

“Yeah,” Jai replied, “about this datapad. Also have a slip for the mod boxes.” He handed the paper and the Quarren took it, tucking it into one of the many pockets of his jumpsuit. 

“Alright, thanks,” Volon said. “I’ll put this in the book. Now, what were you wondering about the ‘pad?”

“Well,” Jai said, showing it to him, “it’s just in really good shape, you know? I can’t see anything that needs repairing.”

Volon took the pad from him and began to quickly scroll through it. “It might be due to some sort of virus some muckity-muck can’t be arsed to fix. You’re right, though, it’s kind of odd.” He glanced at Jai. “Have you checked the lost list?”

Jai shook his head. “No, not yet.”

“Well, go try that, then; someone might have just put this down and it got into our stuff by accident.” He handed the datapad back to Jai. 

Jai nodded and began to turn away before a thought struck him. He turned back to Volon. “Hey, Volon? If it isn’t on the list - I’ve kind of been looking around for a datapad myself -”

The Quarren had already begun to walk away, but stopped and turned back around at Jai’s not-quite-a-question. He studied his face for a second, and then shrugged. “Eh. If you want, keep it. You’ve been doing good work.”

Jai blinked. “Thanks.”

“You’ve earned it.” And with that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. 

The lost list was posted on an info board near the mouth of the hangar so that everyone had a chance to see it. Littered with postings for lost equipment and belongings, if the datapad wasn’t on it, then it would officially be Jai’s.

He wasn’t the only one at it, though. People were giving the board a wide berth as they passed by, and Jai narrowed his eyes slightly as he saw the reason.

Starkiller. The Eighth Brother’s pet. The boy was standing by the board, staring out to the cloudy day outside. 

Jai bit the inside of his cheek, his stomach giving a small twinge of fear. He could smell a hint of rain in the air as he drew closer. Was the pet watching the storm roll in?

A bit of movement caught his eye. Turning his head, he saw a blue-skinned girl with red eyes, standing just at the edge of the crowd. She was fiddling with the rust-red shawl that was wrapped around her shoulders and staring at the pet with what he thought was a worried look on her face.

He’d seen the girl before; she mostly hung around the med-bay, with the kid that had nearly been cut in half, and never seemed to talk to anyone. He’d never seen her in the hangar before, let alone showing an interest in anyone other than her friend. But here she was, staring at the pet.

Had he hurt her? Jai didn’t think that he could see any fear mixing with the worry, but sometimes even near-humans could have very different ways of showing emotion.

Forgetting the datapad, he sidled up to her.

“Hey,” he said.

She jumped nearly a foot in the air. Whipping her head around, she stared at him with wide red-on-red eyes. 

Jai held his hands up, a little surprised by the reaction. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said soothingly. “I just saw you staring. Are you okay?”

The girl pressed her lips together. Jai saw her throat bob as she swallowed, and then she looked towards the pet again. 

Jai narrowed his eyes. Taking a step forward, he touched her arm. “Did he hurt you?”

The girl stared at him again. Turning his head, he saw that the pet had turned to look at them. He was staring at them with the same blank expression that Jai had seen so many times on Dromund Kaas. The same look that usually preceded someone getting killed.

Jai’s stomach clenched at the memories and he hurriedly turned away. Taking a grip on the girl’s elbow, he turned her around with him. “Come on,” he said, forgetting his reason for coming to the lost list in the first place, “how about we get back to your friend, yeah?” He didn’t wait for an answer and began to walk off.

The girl didn’t struggle and simply followed along, thankfully. As he marched off, Jai heard the hiss of rain falling begin.

* * *

Pain was what woke Rahm from his sleep. Not the low sounds of the generators that were always on, regardless of whether or not the ship was currently flying. Not the sounds of people moving through the hallway outside of the engine room of Will of the Whills. Pain.

Hissing curses under his breath, he rolled over on his mattress by the ship’s generators and groped for his pain pills. It took several tries; he was still muzzy-headed from last night’s drinking, and his sense of where things were was correspondingly shot. Eventually, though, his groping fingers wrapped around the small container and dragged it towards him. Sitting up, he swallowed three pills dry and washed them down with a swallow of engine hooch that he hadn’t finished last night. Then he lay back down and waited for the pain to stop.

The lightsaber slash that had taken his eyes had unfortunately not also taken his life. Instead, it had left a thick layer of scar tissue on his face that stretched from the tops of his cheekbones to his eyebrows that burned like it had been freshly inflicted every time the air pressure changed slightly. Whether he was planetside and a storm was rolling in, or the Fleet was making one of its mass jumps, the changes in pressure set his face ablaze all over again. 

Sometimes, he wondered why he had fought so hard to survive after escaping. He had thought that he had wanted to live - but was this really living?

…He needed a drink. He was thinking too much. The pain quickly sharpened as he sat up, making him hiss, until just as quickly it decreased back to a dull burn and he caught his breath. 

Tucking his legs underneath him, he forced himself to get to his feet. The comfortable fuzziness from last night was fading, now, leaving only another pain to add to his discomfort. Placing a hand on the wall, he pressed his lips together tightly and began to move. There was only one cure for a hangover, and he intended to get to it before his headache got any worse. 

The ubiquity of ship stills was not a secret throughout the galaxy. Long hyperspace voyages with several people crammed into one small space that they couldn’t escape from meant that either they killed each other or they got drunk enough not to care. With them coming up to their sixteenth year in exile, the Jedi had raised the activity to a fine art, with their alcohol varying from barely more alcoholic than old fruit juice to so strong that you could strip paint from a starship hull with it.

With his scars hurting as they did, Rahm decided that today was a day for the latter. 

His feet had long since memorized the route. He took it every day, after all, and soon he was listening to the sharp-smelling liquid pouring into one of the many empty bottles that littered the small alcove that held the still. By this time, the pain pills were kicking in, and so once the bottle sounded like it was full Rahm decided to cork it and bring it back to his bed rather than suck it down right there and then. His hand back on the wall, he began to make his way back to his bed.

Only to stop just before the generators.

Cocking his head, Rahm tried to focus. He had thought that he’d heard something. Something that didn’t usually belong in an engine room. It was hard, with all of the noise of the machines surrounding him and the pain pills and alcohol fuzzing his head, but he had thought that he heard -

There. A high, quiet sob. Muffled slightly, like the person that had let it out was ashamed.

Rahm cursed internally. Leaning against the wall, he shoved a hand into his robe’s pockets and pulled out a long strip of cloth. It was somewhat stiff in his hands, reminding him that he should have switched it out for a clean one a week ago, but it would do for now. Just as his feet knew the way to the still by now, his fingers were so practiced at tying the cloth around his scarred face that he could do it even holding a bottle of engine hooch. Wouldn’t do to scare anyone, he thought bitterly to himself.

With his scars covered, he put his hand back on the wall and continued forward to his bed. He’d done enough to be polite, and he had a long day of drinking ahead. If his guest didn’t like it, they could go cry somewhere else.

His guest, unfortunately, didn’t even seem to notice. Rahm passed by the crying person and sat back down on his mattress without so much as a waver in the person’s quiet, muffled sobs. Uncorking his bottle, he took a swig and settled down to wait the person out. Eventually, they’d notice that he was there and then they’d leave, embarrassed. It had happened several times before with other Jedi, after all. There was no reason to think that it wouldn’t be the same now.

Nearly an hour later, Rahm was forced to concede that things were not the same now. The person, who sounded male to his ears, was no longer sobbing, having subsided into shaky, wet gasps a half-hour ago; however, they hadn’t muttered out a quick apology and tottered off, either. Instead, they were just sitting there, an arms length away from Rahm, feeling like a wounded, frightened animal through the Force.

…Maybe an attempt at conversation would scare them away then? If nothing else, it would stop the shaky breathing. It might even remind the person that they had just been sobbing their eyes out in front of someone else and they’d flee in embarrassment. Either way, a win for Rahm. “You wanna talk about it?”

His reply was a long silence. Then -

“It hurts.”

Rahm grunted, not bothering to ask what ‘it’ was. “Welcome to life, boy,” he muttered, raising his bottle to his lips. Just in case, though, he reached out through the Force to the kid. If the kid was physically injured, he didn’t want to be getting an earful from the the healers.

He didn’t feel any physical injuries, which was some small relief. What made him choke mid-swig, his nostrils burning, was everything else he felt.

Alone. Afraid. Wanting to hide, wanting to reach out, knowing that pain was the most likely result but craving even that because it was better than nothing at all - the last time he’d felt that particular mix so intensely was during his last mission with his Padawan. Out in the Outer Rim, traveling back to the Temple after the worst mission of his life before Geonosis, his padawan silent beside him after everything that had happened, they’d come across a ship’s tooka. Such animals were very common on freighters, taking care of the various vermin that ships picked up, but this one had been a favourite punching bag for the freighter’s captain. More than once, they’d heard a yowl and then witnessed the tooka sprinting away from the cockpit. The fear and distrust the animal had radiated towards them for their entire trip on that ship had been staggering for an animal.

The person - the child beside him reminded him of that tooka as Rahm reached to him through the Force. He was a little thing, alone and afraid and in pain, and suddenly Rahm was back on that freighter with Kento beside him, his padawan radiating a pain that looped with the animal and became something that he didn’t know how to even begin how to address.

Force, he wished he’d been able to talk to him. Able to find the words -

Rahm cut the thoughts and the memories off with another swig from his bottle, replacing the one he’d spat out.

Luckily, the boy was continuing to talk, seeming to not notice his probing or reaction.

“I - I’m supposed to be better. Be getting better,” he stumbled over the words, sounding like he hadn’t spoken in a very long time. “I - I was supposed to be getting better, and then the rain came -”

His voice broke on the last few words, and he snuffled again. The alcohol was burning Rahm’s mouth and he swallowed.

The boy swallowed loudly. “It was raining - when the red blades came -”

And finally, something in Rahm’s brain that he hadn’t completely destroyed with his drinking went _ker-thunk_.

This was a young-sounding voice. Younger than the Resistance recruited. Younger than they had in the Order, anymore, except for the children from Dromund Kaas. That meant that the person sitting beside him was a child from that hellhole. The hellhole that he’d spoken against attacking.

His stomach twisted, and Rahm took another swallow to loosen its knots.

He didn’t have anything against the children. He never had, despite some of the snipes that came from Knight Katooni and her ilk. His protests had been based on entirely practical concerns -

On fear, his brain hissed.

Rahm grimaced. He needed to drink faster if his brain was spitting out truths like that. 

In the meantime, though, the boy had subsided back into muffled sobs. Gingerly, Rahm reached out and lightly patted the boy on the back. His hand nearly covered it entirely. “There there,” he muttered uselessly. “There there.” He had always been terrible at comforting people.

The boy didn’t seem to notice the lameness of his attempts at comfort though. He froze underneath Rahm’s hand, just for long enough that Rahm was considering pulling it back, and then melted into the touch, his sobs quieting. 

Rahm swallowed; only spit this time. “There there,” he repeated. “There there.”

The boy’s back was warm underneath his hand. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d touched someone like this.

(He was lying. It was as he and Kento had stood in the lift on their way to the Council chambers after their last mission. Kento hadn’t melted into his touch, though. He’d been still and stiff as stone until Rahm took his hand away.)

They stayed like that for a long time. His arm outstretched, the boy leaning into his touch. Until finally, there was the sound of footsteps approaching. 

“Galen.”

The cool tones of Knight Taa were like a bucket of cold water over Rahm’s head, pulling him out of his memories of his padawan. Pulling his hand away, he turned his head uselessly towards where her voice had emanated. “Taa.”

“Rahm.” Her voice was just a touch softer as she said his name, though there was still an underlying tension to it. “My apologies for the child disturbing you.”

There was something about how she said the words that had Rahm shifting uncomfortably. “Wasn’t any trouble,” he muttered, clutching his bottle a little closer to himself. “Just seemed to want a quiet place to stay for a bit.”

Taa made a doubtful sound. Then her footsteps passed in front of him, and he heard the rustle of her clothing. “Come along now youngling. It’s time for your treatment.”

“Yes, Master,” the boy said softly, his feeling in the Force quieter now. There was another rustle beside him; the boy getting up, Rahm supposed. 

He scraped together enough energy to smile in the kid’s general direction. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said with a lightness that he didn’t feel.

A small curl of hesitation slipped through the boy’s Force signature. It was quickly overwhelmed by Taa’s rising tide of irritation. “Come along now.” A shift and a click; Taa turning towards him. “I’ll bring you some dinner tonight.”

He nodded at her. “Much obliged.”

And then she was gone, the boy gone with her and dragging with them a small, yearning tug in his belly.

He didn’t like that feeling. Lifting his long-neglected bottle back to his lips, Rahm took a long, determined pull that burned all the way down. Another bottle of this, and he wouldn’t feel anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo - thank you all for your comments and encouragement. It really means a lot to me.


	7. Papers Please

Static.

Kanan stared down at the commlink held in his shaking hand and felt despair sink its teeth into his heart. Sabine and Ezra, screaming -

Someone was breathing heavily, like they were about to scream. Distantly, he realized that it was him.

Zeb was standing across from him, his ears pinned tight to the sides of his head. Hera was beside him, her fingers digging into his bicep.

“Kanan -”

“I didn’t want to take this mission,” Kanan rasped, cutting Hera off, “because of something like this.”

“We couldn’t have known that there was going to be a raid.” Hera’s voice was steady, and somehow that just made everything that much worse.

Kanan’s hand clenched shut tightly, making the sharp edges of the commlink dig into his palm. “We damn well knew that it was a possibility!” His eyes were burning, and he shrugged off Hera’s hand. “And now they’re paying the price!”

Reaching up, he dug his fingers into his hair, clenching his teeth together so tight that it hurt. Horrible half-formed visions of what the kids could be going through ran through his head like ships through hyperspace - dead and broken on the streets, in an Imperial cell, being tortured for information that they didn’t have -

“Kanan -”

Kanan broke and punched the wall, not caring that the skin over his knuckles was splitting.

“Woah, hey!” Zeb said, grabbing his arm. “Hurting yourself won’t help anything!”

Snarling, Kanan tried to pull his arm away. “I should have put my foot down! They should have been with the ship!”

Hera’s green hands wrapped around his arm as well, stilling him. “Don’t you think we all know that?” she snapped, her voice breaking. “Don’t you think that the moment those bucketheads showed up that I knew I should have listened to you?”

Kanan stopped, breathing heavily, and looked at Hera with burning eyes, seeing for the first time how wet her own were. Her fingers were trembling as they dug into his wrist.

“Don’t you think that I know that whatever happens to them now is my fault?” Her voice was wobbling.

Kanan swallowed and slowly unclenched his hands. “Hera -”

“I put the mission above their safety,” Hera continued, choking, “I treated them like soldiers and not the children they are -”

“Hera -” All of his anger fled his body as the first tears welled up in her eyes and he pulled her into into his arms. Pressing his face against her flight-cap, he squeezed her tight and felt his shirt begin to dampen.

“Hera, I’m sorry,” he said lamely, “I wasn’t trying to blame you. We all messed up here, including our contact.”

She trembled in his arms, and he shot a desperate look at Zeb.

His large green eyes soft, Zeb put his hand on Hera’s back as well. “Kanan’s right,” he rumbled softly. “This isn’t any one person’s fault. You said yourself during the briefing, this should have been a milk run.”

Hera gave out a wet gasp. Her fingers dug into Kanan’s back.

“And in any case, it’s not over yet. We can still save them.” Zeb straightened slightly, his face hardening into something stern that reminded Kanan that the other man had been a military leader in charge of safeguarding an entire planet. “The Empire’s security droids wouldn’t kill them - the street’s hardly a military installation, and public executions for missing papers would only destabilize the situation in this sector of space. More likely they were knocked unconscious and taken to a holding area - a low security one, considering the crime. With such basic charges, they probably won’t be gotten to any time soon.”

Kanan felt the grip of panic that had sunk into his brain so tight begin to loosen at Zeb’s summation of the situation. “What are you saying, Zeb?”

“I’m saying that this isn’t over yet,” Zeb replied. “We can still bust them out before someone figures out for sure who they are.”

Hera stopped trembling in his arms. Lifting her head, she pulled away from him slightly, wiping at her cheeks. “You’re right, Zeb,” she said. “You’re right.”

Looking into her eyes, Kanan saw the fear and guilt that had been clouding them begin to evaporate, being replaced by the laser focus that he was more used to seeing.

Pulling away further, Hera took in a deep breath and let it out. “We need to make a plan. Starting with figuring out where they’re being held.”

His mind had felt like it was spinning in circles. Now, though, with a goal in front of him, it was straightening out and letting his thoughts charge forward. “Low security means that they’re probably being held on-planet,” he commented. “It also means that it’s probably fairly public. We could probably get a list of possibilities off of the local holonet.”

“You’re right,” Hera agreed. She turned her head and bellowed. “Chopper!”

There was a loud squawk, and Chopper wheeled to the edge of the small balcony above them. Raising a manipulator, he saluted them and then wheeled back, clearly heading to the Ghost’s computers.

“That’s that covered, then,” Hera said, clearly more to herself than the rest of them. “After we find out - then what? We can hardly blast our way in with how high security’s become with the political summit.”

“Sneaky, eh?” Zeb was frowning. “Looks like I’ll be playing support for any plan, then. A Lasat is going to be noticeable.”

“Don’t count yourself out,” Kanan said, “we might end up having to pull a prisoner transfer to get in. But otherwise, I agree, this is going to be a stealth mission.”

“The less of a fuss we make, the better,” Hera agreed. Her forehead was puckering as she thought. “For getting in and out - I think I remember seeing some information on Imperial hangouts. If we can lure an officer away, we could steal their access codes, get in and out without trouble.”

For the first time since their escape from the warehouse, Kanan smiled. “Now we’re cooking. If you can find that out, I’ll play lure. In the meantime - Zeb, do you want to help me listen in on Imperial chatter?”

Zeb smirked. “Can do.” The smile quickly faded, though. “What about the Resistance, though? Aren’t they expecting us back soon?”

Kanan and Hera traded looks, coming to the same conclusion.

“We’ll have to send a message.”

Hera nodded. “With Ezra captured as well, I doubt that they’ll disagree with our decisions here. Losing him would hurt the cause. They’re unlikely to try and order us back.”

He didn’t like how cold the reasoning was, but in this case, Kanan could appreciate it for making their job easier. He shrugged, feeling a little loose-limbed with relief. “In that case, we should probably get to it. Once we have the information, we’ll meet back here and come up with a more concrete plan.”

“Agreed.”

_Don’t worry, kids. We’re coming._

* * *

Alexsandr Kallus was an agent of the Imperial Security Bureau. He did not hurl things at walls, regardless of how poorly a raid went.

Grumbling low in his throat as he splashed water on his face, he repeated the statement in his head. He was an Imperial Agent. He accepted what had happened, he didn’t sulk. He was fully-grown man!

Shaking the excess water from his hands, he grabbed a towel and began to dry off his face. Patting at his muttonchops, he stared balefully at his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

It had been such a promising lead. Like many of his coworkers, Alexsandr had been horrified to learn about the raid on an Imperial Academy. He had been in his office in Coruscant when the report had come in, working on tracking a group of Republic-sympathizing musicians when the alert had sprung up on his display. One of his co-workers on his current case had turned out to be prone to sending out exaggerated alerts, so he hadn’t expected much when he’d opened the report - but he could remember his reaction as he scrolled through it. How his office seemed to fade away, replaced by horror. All of those cadets, kidnapped by the Resistance and the Jedi for who-knew-what. It had made him sick, and he’d spent many nights from then skipping sleep to help track the bastards down.

This raid had been the fruit of that work - the attack had apparently been very violent, and many of the children had been noted to have been injured before being dragged away. Therefore, it had been logical to track medical supplies specialized for children. He’d tracked this particular shipment for several months, following the various smugglers groups, letting them pass on their shipments time after time with the goal of catching the group that would actually be taking the items to the children themselves…

It had been infuriating. But finally, it had seemed to pay off. They’d gotten a tip that part of the Fulcrum network was coming to pick up the shipment this time, and they had prepared accordingly -

And then the Inquisitor had shown up. The grey, hulking alien had been inserted into his carefully planned raid at the very last minute, against his protests, and just as he had expected the entire thing had fallen apart as soon as it started. The Inquisitor had surged forward against orders and engaged, blocking their carefully-planned movements -

Alexsandr took a deep breath and let it out. Now was not the time, he told himself sternly. He could put all of this into the report later. Right now, though, he had to start the debrief with the others involved in the raid.

Examining his reflection critically, he decided that his facial hair was as dry as it was going to get. Hanging up the towel, he opened the door to the fresher.

“Sir!”

Alexsandr started slightly. A cadet, here?

Dressed in the usual white uniform and helmeted, the boy (judging from the sound of the being’s voice) stood stiffly at attention, snapping off a holo-perfect salute. Then he held out a datapad to Alexsandr and opened his helmet. “For you, sir. From city security.”

“City security, you say? What in the galaxy could they have for me?” Alexsandr took the datapad from the boy, though. He remembered, now; Cadet Zare Leonis, assigned to shadow his little unit. The boy had apparently made quite a splash in the Arkanis Academy, getting himself on the fast track for officers and getting the attention of several ISB recruiters.

“I’m not sure, sir,” Leonis said, tucking his hands behind his back and standing so stiffly at attention that it hurt Alexsandr’s back just looking at him. “Security chief just said that their droids found these two in the street without their papers. Ran their faces through the database as per routine and they were flagged.”

Alexsandr raised an eyebrow. “Flagged?” Now that was interesting. He opened the files on the datapad.

And immediately, his other eyebrow joined the first midway up his forehead. Two faces looked up at him from the datapad’s display; two very young faces.

One was unfamiliar to him; a golden-skinned girl with fine-boned features and brightly-coloured hair, glaring from a wanted poster. There was a note beside the image, saying that she was a match to a missing Imperial cadet.

The other image, however, was very familiar. The black hair was shorter now, of course; but Alexsandr would never forget this face.

Ezra Bridger, the son of the Voices of Freedom Ephraim and Mira Bridger, stared at him from the display, nervous yet defiant. Alexsandr had seen that expression on the boy’s face before, the night they met for the first time.

For a second, he found himself transported back there, to that field on Lothal. The wind had been cool that night, the fields of grain rustling from the exhaust of the cloudjumper’s engines. The tall, foreboding figure of the Grand Inquisitor had made the boy seem that much smaller, held tight by his white hands. An entire planet, brought to a halt just to catch this boy. The large, disfiguring burn that tore across the boy’s face, raised and red and already letting out a whiff of rot. The fear in the boy’s bright blue eyes as he was dragged aboard the ship.

Seeing the boy’s name on the list of stolen cadets, nearly six months ago, and the awful twist of guilt in his belly.

Hang the debrief. It could wait. This boy could not.

“Sir?”

Alexsandr shook himself from his reverie. “Well done, Cadet Leonis,” he said, tucking the datapad underneath his arm. “I assume that they’re in the detention cells, then?”

“Yes sir.” Leonis hesitated for a moment.

Alexsandr raised an eyebrow at him. “Something to add, cadet?”

“I - no sir. Just - the boy’s name. I’ve seen it before, on the list from that Academy that was attacked?”

For a moment, Alexsandr was surprised. Then he remembered that the list was hardly classified, being sent around to the various garrisons so that they could keep an eye out for Rebels. “Yes, his name was there. You have quite the memory.”

“Thank you sir.” Leonis dipped his head respectfully. “So was my sister’s.”

Alexsandr had begun to move down the hall, heading towards the detention cells, but stopped at the cadet’s words. He turned to fully face the boy. “Your sister?”

“Dhara.” Leonis avoided meeting his eyes. “She joined Imperial service just a bit before me.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “I - it wasn’t nice, seeing her name on that list.”

Ah. Alexsandr felt himself softening towards the boy. The barely-controlled misery in his voice spoke to close relationship with his family, something that Alexsandr had always envied in others. Walking back over, he placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Leonis started, looking up at him.

“Do not fear,” Alexsandr said gently. “The ISB has been working non-stop to find the kidnapped cadets, and I’m sure that Bridger will be a great help to us. Your sister will not be lost to us for much longer.”

The boy pressed his lips together, visibly swallowing. Then he steeled himself and nodded. “Thank you sir.”

Alexsandr smiled at him and patted his shoulder once before letting go. “I’m sure that you have much to do. I’ll let you go.”

It didn’t take long to reach the security office that sat just in front of the entrance to the detention cells. The security chief, a blond, thin-faced man, told him the story of their droids finding the children wandering the streets without their papers and then taking them in violently when they had resisted. Alexsandr had not been pleased by that and had let him know before entering the center.

The inside of the city’s detention center was much the same as any other detention center Alexsandr had been in. Blank, dark halls with the cell doors set into the slanted walls and guards patrolling. He could hear the occasional moan or cry from behind a door, but otherwise the center was silent.

Bridger’s cell was guarded by two troopers who straightened as he approached. “Sir. Will you be needing us to join you in the interrogation?”

Alexsandr frowned at the enthusiasm in the man’s voice. “Hardly. Stay at your posts.” Pressing the controls to the cell, the door hissed open and he stepped down inside.

Like all Imperial cells, the small space was dimly lit by harsh white lights set into the walls. The walls were bare except for a single platform bolted against the wall for prisoners to sleep on, and that Bridger was currently curled up on with his face pressed against his knees.

He looked up though as Alexsandr’s boots hit the floor, his eyes wide with fear. Alexsandr paused at that look, struck by the scar that sliced through the bridge of his nose and the meat of his cheekbone. It was right where that awful wound had been nearly two years before, but that didn’t make sense, did it? An Imperial cadet would have access to enough bacta to keep even a wound like that from scarring, surely?

Not his problem, Alexsandr reminded himself. He was not here to wonder about scars. Tucking his hands behind his back, he straightened and cleared his throat. “Ezra Bridger,” he began.

The boy’s eyes widened. “How - I don’t know who you’re talking about, my name’s not Ezra Bridger,” he babbled, “me and my sister just got grabbed by those droids cuz we dropped our papers -”

Alexsandr raised a hand. Bridger stopped talking so quickly that Alexsandr’s could hear his teeth click together and flinched back.

Stepping forward slowly, he watched the boy as he carefully approached, cataloging every reaction and filing it away in his mind for future analysis.

Curled up on the bench, the boy watched his approach with wary, near-feral eyes. Alexsandr softened his body language accordingly, slumping his shoulders slightly and moving slowly. He counted it as a victory when the boy didn’t bolt as he sat down on the other end of the bench.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and looked the boy over. He was very thin - almost worryingly so. One of his sleeves had ridden up over wrist, exposing pink scar tissue that Alexsandr was sure hadn’t been there back on Lothal. His eyes were wide and wary and afraid, with none of the defiance or anger that had lit them up on his home planet.

Alexsandr’s stomach clenched and he swallowed back his anger. Damn the Republicans. That they could have done this to such a bold youngling in only six months made him sick.

“Ezra Bridger,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “I know who you are.”

The boy flinched.

Alexsandr squeezed the fingers on one hand tightly together but kept his face still and concerned. “The Empire has been looking for you for a long time,” he said.

Bridger didn’t seem to find that comforting. “I told you, I’m not this kid you’re looking for,” he insisted weakly, not meeting his eyes. “I’m Galen Waru, I’m here with my family to deliver supplies for the cultural festival. We got separated and I dropped my papers.”

A recitation of a story, not facts. Alexsandr could tell the difference. He wondered in the back of his mind how long it had taken the Rebellion to drill such things into the boy’s mind so that he would recite it so readily. He had the dark feeling that he could give an accurate estimate.

Reaching out, he ignored how Bridger scooted back and placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulders. He was trembling underneath Alexsandr’s fingers, so fine that it wasn’t obvious to the naked eye. “Bridger,” he said quietly. “Ezra. It’s alright. You’re safe here, and no one will hurt you.”

That got a reaction, though not the one that Alexsandr expected. Rather than relief, or even continued suspicion, the boy just stared at him incredulously. “Safe? You must think I’m as bright as a binary droid if you think I’m going to believe that.”

“I’m sorry?”

The boy shriveled, his brief moment of connection vanishing. He pressed his chin against his knees and seemed to brace himself for a blow. “Nothing.”

Alexsandr filed that reaction away in his mind. “As I was saying, the Empire has been searching for you and the other cadets that were taking for a long time. We -”

The door hissed open.

Looking up in irritation, Alexsandr opened his mouth to chide whoever was interrupting them.

“Agent Kallus,” the tall grey Inquisitor said in his strange, rounded accent. “I will be taking the child now.”

Bridger moved. Turning his head, Alexsandr saw the boy stiffen, his eyes growing wide and frightened. His hands, which had relaxed somewhat while talking to him, paled at the knuckles.

He had not wanted to work with an Inquisitor. He, frankly, did not like them. They had an annoying habit of blundering through carefully set up stings and investigations, ruining weeks or even months of work in mere seconds. Just for that, Alexsandr would have refused the request.

Seeing the boy’s reaction simply steeled his spine.

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor…” Alexsandr drawled, trailing off meaningfully.

The grey alien didn’t answer, only narrowing his fogged white eyes.

Alexsandr rose from his seat, straightening his clothes. “Unfortunately, I cannot simply allow you to march in here and take an individual from my custody simply on your say-so. If you wish to gain custody of Bridger, here, there is paperwork that must be filled out -”

The Inquisitor made a frustrated noise, cutting him off with a gesture. “It is not my say-so,” he hissed. “The Grand Inquisitor -”

Bridger’s face drained of colour in the corner of Alexsandr’s eye.

“- is not exempt from Imperial protocol,” Alexsandr interrupted, even as a whisper of unease curled in the back of his mind. The Grand Inquisitor had, after all, had the authority to recall all bacta on Lothal where the boy came from, just to flush him into a trap. He forged onward, however. “As well, if it is his custody that Bridger is to be released into, then it is his signatures that I will need. I doubt that my own superiors would appreciate me releasing a valuable witness to an ongoing case into the custody of a mere messenger, after all.”

If it were possible, he would have been struck down by the power behind the Inquisitor’s glare. Deliberately, he turned away from him, facing down Bridger once more. Lazily, he raised his hand and made a dismissive motion. “Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

There was a long silence behind him before the door hissed shut.

Alexsandr smirked to himself in triumph. “Now, where were we?”

* * *

The Inquisitor formerly known as the Fifth Brother dragged his feet as he headed towards the Vizsla Compound. Not just from the pain that was his constant companion since being dragged from the wreckage of Dromund Kaas’ academy, but also from an emotion that he had come to truly hate.

Fear.

That damned ISB agent had just had to refuse to roll over when he had arrived. He’d been so close to retrieving the child and being able to present him to the Grand Inquisitor! Such a coup would have at least regained him an actual rank, if not his former one! Now, though, he was forced to show his hand earlier than he intended, and all of his ambitions were falling apart.

He ground his teeth together, ignoring how the various officers he passed radiated fear. He should have guessed that this would happen. Nothing ever went right when that brat was involved.

Drawing close to the room the Grand Inquisitor had claimed as his own, he paused for a moment to compose himself. It would not do to show his disappointment; the other Inquisitor had more than once during his convalescence shown exactly what he thought of Five’s failures, and Five was not willing to expose such a weakness again.

Raising his fist, he went to knock on the door, only to be interrupted by a deep voice speaking from within. “Come in already, Inquisitor, I don’t have all day to indulge your sense of drama.”

It felt like his teeth would crack from the pressure in his jaw, but Five obeyed. The door hissed open, heat from the light of the setting sun smacking against his skin. He could feel the Grand Inquisitor’s bored contempt scratch at his shields, the sketch of his shape in Five’s Force sense facing away from him and looking at something on a datapad.  
Five knew what the drill was. His legs and back were aching from today’s raid and protested as he got down on one knee and waited to be further acknowledged. The injuries that he had received on Dromund Kaas technically had needed more time to heal after the raid, but Darth Sidious had demanded that all available Inquisitors be in the field to offset the losses that they had taken.

Privately, Five thought that the main reason for such a demand was more about punishing the surviving Inquisitors than actually needing them in the field. That certainty was only deepened with the duties that he was assigned; ones far below his competence level. But one did not live long questioning their leader, and Five was not about to throw away his second chance at life.

After several minutes, Five was finally acknowledged by the Grand Inquisitor. Turning away from the window, he tucked his datapad under an arm and came to stand in front of Five, the sudden cool of his shadow making Five’s skin tingle. “Well? Do you have something to report, or have you simply come to waste my time?”

Five swallowed his anger before replying. “Grand Inquisitor, I have news about the raid. A certain individual was found -”

“Oh, you mean Bridger?”

Five froze. The Grand Inquisitor’s boot heels clicked against the tile of the floor as he turned and walked back towards his desk. He put down his datapad and folded his hands behind him as if he wasn’t paying attention, but Five could feel the malice coming off of him in waves.

“Bridger. You must remember him, he was to be our new High Interrogator. You assisted in his lessons with the Seventh Sister, did you not?”

For all the blandly questioning tone, both of them knew that it wasn’t a question so much as a threat. The Grand Inquisitor’s fury when he had learned who had lead the Resistance to the Academy had been fatal to a few of the other surviving Inquisitors. Five himself had only survived due to being in a bacta tank at the time and therefore not directly in the line of fire.

“Yes, Grand Inquisitor.”

The Grand Inquisitor hummed thoughtfully to himself. “Of course you do.” He turned back towards Five, the malice coming off of him increasing. “I suppose that’s why you attempted to personally take custody of him, then? Some sort of attempt to curry favour?”

What was the right answer, here? Five’s mind raced, trying desperately to come up with something to say, but the Grand Inquisitor was in no mood to wait.

“Tell me, Inquisitor,” the Grand Inquisitor said, placing emphasis on his lack of rank, “did you think that I didn’t have alerts placed for if Bridger was spotted on an Imperial world? Plans on how to retrieve him without alerting every idiot in an Imperial uniform of our intentions? Or do you think that this Agent Kallus is truly such a stickler for the rules and not just trying to keep the boy from us?”

Five swallowed and muttered, “I thought -”

There was a click; footsteps coming to a stop in front of him, so close he could feel the warmth coming off of the other man's body. Then a fist grabbed a hold of the front of his shirt, hauling him to his feet, and another one cracked across his face.

Five staggered, his ears ringing and tasting blood in his mouth.

“No, you didn’t,” the Grand Inquisitor said, his voice low and full of deadly promise. “You didn’t think at all.”

“I was trying -”

Another blow, and more blood in his mouth. His lips stung and something hot dribbled down his chin.

“Agent Kallus,” the Grand Inquisitor said, “is a true loyalist of the Empire. One that actually believes our little cover story for retrieving the children. But all of his records point to him not being so blindly believing as to simply let us make Bridger disappear. He has already sent more than one message to me, insisting on me ‘filling out the proper paperwork’ -” and the mockery in his tone was simply savage “- and ‘keeping up communication’ so that he can find the other children.” He struck Five again, this time seemingly out of more frustration than anything else.

Regardless, the strength behind the blow had Five falling to one knee, gagging and coughing on his own blood. The man’s hand was armoured, and from the pain in his cheek at least one of the blows had hit hard enough to tear his skin.

“You,” the Grand Inquisitor said, “in your blundering, have managed to completely wreck any chance of getting Bridger back under our control with any alacrity. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Five tried to think. “Grand Inquisitor -”

That merely earned him a vicious, Force-enhanced kick to his gut. Now gagging on vomit as well blood, Five curled up on the floor and focused on breathing.

The sound of the Grand Inquisitor’s boots clicking on the floor as he circled him was a distant sound, barely audible over the ringing in Five’s ears.

“You,” the Grand Inquisitor said with exaggerated patience, “are no longer involved in this, do you understand? You are to have no more contact with Agent Kallus or the ISB. All you are going to be doing is guarding Viceroy Saxon’s little summit.” A low, scornful scoff. “If you can handle even that.”

Swallowing a mouthful of blood and stomach acid, Five managed to gasp out an answer. “Yes, Grand Inquisitor.”

“Good.” Once more, the Grand Inquisitor went back to the desk and picked up his datapad. “Once you’re quite finished with lying on the floor, clean yourself up and report for duty.” The footsteps passed by him, the malice and anger in the Force fading to boredom and disgust. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to fill out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now you see the Imperial side of things? Love it? Hate it? Let me know in the comments!


	8. Cracks in the Foundation

Kandal wished that he had his armour on. 

Standing in the cool night air, he burrowed deeper into his coat and pulled his knitted cap lower. Wearing his armour up here would have been silly, of course, shrieking to the world that they were up to something. Saxon may not have outlawed wearing their armour while here, but it sure wasn’t smiled on. Kandal missed the weight, though, and the comfort of knowing that he was protected if this whole mission went horribly wrong.

He wondered if Fokkay felt the same, down in the club. They had run seduction ops before, of course; being the flirtiest Protector, they were a natural fit whenever something like that came up and considering how contained that they had to run this, they were the natural choice. Still, walking into the beasts’ den with only a flirty red dress and a hidden comm unit had to be nerve-wracking. 

“Anything?”

Mahhae looked up from her own comm unit and shook her head. “There’s a lot of competition in the meat-market tonight with the festival about to start. They’re working on it, though.”

Kandal pressed his lips together into a line.

Turning back to the alleyway below them, he settled back down and tried to focus. He had to be ready to have Fokkay’s back. He had to make sure that there was no one else here waiting to spring an ambush -

Movement. Kandal tensed, thankful that despite the lack of protection his coat was at least thick enough to hide that. Peering out of the corners of his eyes, he tried to pick out that bit of movement that he’d caught. If there was another person up here with them, then they needed to be taken out before they messed things up.

Where, where, where - there! By one of the building’s air conditioning units, a muted flash of green.

Casually, Kandal got up and stretched. He could feel more than see Mahhae shift, and he made the handsign for silence. “Spotted someone else up here. I’ll take care of it,” he murmured out of the side of his mouth.

She froze, for a second, looking up at him. Then she nodded, overly-casual, while making the handsign for ‘I’ll be watching your back’.

And with that, Kandal began to meander his way over to where he’d seen the green, dawdling like he was just stretching his legs. His spine was prickling with tension, though, as he got closer to the place where he’d seen the green. As he came up, he slipped his hand into his pocket where he’d hidden a hold-out blaster, normal blaster’s being banned within city limits.

Careful, casual, he was at the air conditioner now and slipping the blaster out -

Only to stiffen as he felt the barrel of another dig into his back. 

“Hands away from your pockets, buddy,” growled a feminine voice behind him.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit -

Taking a deep breath, Kandal obeyed. He was far away from Mahhae, now, and slightly behind some protrusions, but she would notice soon enough that something was wrong - he just had to play for time. 

“Turn around.”

Kandal obeyed, and got his first good look at his captor. 

It turned out that the green that he’d seen was not a jacket, as he had first assumed. A green Twi’lek woman glared up at him, a blaster pointed directly and unwaveringly at his core, her lekku tattooed with white patterns and wearing her own dark coat and cap. “What are you doing up here?”

Kandal raised an eyebrow at her and looked at her outfit significantly. “I think that I can ask you the same.”

She scowled. “I asked first.” Her voice was cold.

There was movement behind her and Kandal felt his lips twitch in amusement. “I asked second.”

The sound of the safety being clicked off of Mahhae’s blaster echoed in the darkness of the rooftop. “And I’m asking third.”

The Twi’lek woman stiffened, her lekku arching. She whirled, her hand going to her coat, but Kandal was already moving the moment her blaster drifted away from him.

He slammed into her with all of the force a heavily-muscled unarmoured Mandalorian could summon, wrapping his arms around her limbs and squeezing her wrist to try and make her drop her blaster. 

The Twi’lek snarled and slammed her head back, causing stars to burst across his vision. He still held on, though.

“Calm down,” he ordered. 

She kept her grip on her blaster and slammed her head back again. Warmth gushed from his nose. He still held on.

“Calm down or I will stun you,” Mahhae snaps in front of them.

“Stun her,” said a heavily-accented voice, “and I’ll drop you.”

…Shit, there was a second person. And judging from the crackling noise, they had a weapon too. At least the Twi’lek had settled down in his arms. 

The Twi’lek’s friend was a hulking fellow. Tall and heavily muscled, with long pointed ears and a bald head, he held what looked to be some sort of electro-staff close to Mahhae’s core. 

Kandal looked around, looked for an opening, and mentally cursed. There was no way that he could strike out at the other without Mahhae getting hurt; either from the Twi’lek friend’s electro-staff or from the Twi’lek herself, shooting Mahhae while he struggled with her friend.

“Look’s like we’re in a bit of a Rodian standoff,” he finally said with a lightness that he didn’t feel. “I don’t suppose that we could maybe start over?”

“You’re the one that attacked first,” the Twi’lek’s friend pointed out. 

Kandal grimaced. “My apologies, then,” he said smoothly. The hulking alien still had his electro-staff way too close to Mahhae. “I only meant to find out what you two were doing up here.”

“You have a funny way of doing that,” the Twi’lek said archly.

Kandal risked a snort. “You had your blaster out first.”

The Twi’lek’s friend snorted as well. “He has a point, Hera.”

Hera stiffened in his arms, and her friend sighed. “Don’t give me that look, they’re up here too. I doubt they’re supposed to be here either.”

Kandal let out a huff of amusement. Mahhae, tense as she was, shot him a wry look. “Can’t argue with that.”

“In that case, why don’t you answer my question?” Hera asked, her voice cool. “What are you doing up here?”

Mahhae and Kandal shared a look for moment. Then Kandal sighed. “Waiting for a friend,” he said, before gruffly adding, “We want to ask someone about a missing child.”

The Twi’lek went very, very still in his arms. “A missing child?” Her voice had a queer edge to it. 

Then there was the sound of a door opening from the alleyway below. 

Everyone froze, staring at each other. Kandal could see the calculation in their eyes and knew that they could see it in his as well.

Someone had just come out from the club. Two someones, judging from the low laughter and soft smacking sounds. The voices were too low for Kandal to tell if it was Fokkay, though.

If it was Fokkay, then they would need their help. If it was someone else, though, then he could be dropping dangerous enemies and exposing them to danger for no reason.

If it was Fokkay. If it wasn’t Fokkay. Kandal bit his lower lip.

Mahhae made her own decision before him. Dropping her blaster, she whirled on her heel and surged away from them, towards the edge of the building.

The Twi’lek, Hera, mimicked her. Slamming her foot down on top of his, she got him to let go of her and surged towards the edge of the building as well, leaving him quietly staring and sharing awkward looks with her muscled friend.

Well, with the area where the muscled friend had been standing. He was on the Twi’lek’s tail as soon as she was away from him, leaving him to hobble after them.

It was not Fokkay down in the alleyway. There was a supercommando though, his modified imperial crest a brilliant white in the shadows of the alleyway, pinning a tall human man with long brown hair against the wall and kissing him loudly. 

“Looks like we’re in business,” the Twi’lek’s muscled friend murmured. Out of the corner of his eye, Kandal saw that the Twi’lek already had her blaster out and aimed.

There was the odd, electronic noise of a stun blast, and then the supercommando was falling. The Twi’lek’s friend grabbed her and jumped over the edge of the building, landing with a soft, barely audible noise. Kandal reached up to his ear and depressed the button that opened a channel to Fokkay. “Get out here,” he said without preamble. “We have to talk.”

“Sure thing!” Fokkay’s voice was bubbly and sweet, a sure sign that they were talking to someone. Ignoring Mahhae’s questioning look, he jumped down after the Twi’lek and her friend. 

The Twi’lek was talking to the long-haired man in a low, worried tone. The muscular alien, who in the slightly better light of the alleyway turned out to be covered in short, purple fur, was bending over the supercommando and rifling through his belt-pouch. All three looked back at him as he came closer, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Hey,” he said. “I think we have a few things to talk about.”

* * *

Rig sat with her back painfully straight and her face forcibly serene. She did not want to be here. She did not want to be in this crowded little office, sitting across from a smug Wookie and Twi’lek, with Master Unduli sending her little warning nudges through the Force to behave like she was some initiate. She did not want to be forced to talk to outsiders about Jedi traditions and listen to them tut and tell her that she was doing everything wrong. 

She wanted to be back in her medbay, looking after little Aji. She wanted to be going over inventory, making sure that they were stocked up before they left. She wanted to be doing anything but this. 

Sitting at his desk, General Kleeve quietly cleared his throat. “Well then,” he said, his voice only a little sardonic, “let’s play nice here, shall we? I’d like to have us come to an agreement without shouting if we can.”

:No promises,: Tigu the Twi’lek signed. 

Rig tightened her lips as Kleeve sighed. 

“Alright,” Kleeve said, interlacing his fingers in front of him on his desk. “Why don’t we begin by discussing how the Jedi go about treating emotional trauma then?”

“A good start,” Master Unduli said, her voice serene and unruffled. “Knight Nema?”

Rig smoothed a hand over a wrinkle in her skirt. “Despite what some might think -” she was proud of how steady her voice was despite the anger welling up in her chest “- the Jedi do in fact feel emotions and recognize them. We just don’t wallow in them. With how intimately our control over the Force is linked with such things, doing so is dangerous and increases our risk of falling to the Dark Side.” Across from her, both Aarrrwan and Tigu were silent and unmoving. “Therefore, Jedi mindhealing focuses on encouraging the patient to face, accept, and let go of their trauma as quickly and completely as possible.”

:As quickly as possible?: Aarrrwan whuffled suspiciously. 

Rig could feel a little ice entering her gaze despite her attempts. “Yes.”

Aarrrwan whuffled again, this time a meaningless noise. :I’m sorry, but what you’re saying sounds like you focus more on speed than thoroughness.:

Deep breaths, Rig. Deep breaths. “I believe that you’re letting your own emotions cloud your judgement here, Doctor Aarrrwan. You’re ignoring the other adjective in my explanation - completely.” She smoothed the wrinkle in her skirt again; it was useless, something that would need to be ironed out, but the gesture soothed her and took away from her irritation. “Because of our connection to the Force, we can take a much closer and more self-aware look at our own emotions. We can examine them and then use the Force to help them fade faster than they would without it. So your accusations -”

:That still sounds like you speeding past the actual root causes of the trauma, though,: Aarrrwan interrupted. :All this talk about the Force - do you not use it at all to gain a better perspective on your own trauma?:

Rig leaned back in her chair, feeling nettled. “Our ways have served us well since before the founding of the Republic. Who are you -”

“Nema.” Master Unduli’s voice was low and even, but full of warning. 

Rig breathed and smoothed her skirt for the third time before folding her hands in her lap. “These methods have served the Jedi Order ably for centuries, Doctor Aarrrwan. I see no reason for them to not be able to help the children now.”

:Yes, well,: the Wookie said, leaning forward in his seat, :how many of your Order have gone through what they went through in recent times? I’m not insulting your Order, I’m just suggesting that what has worked with everyone else might not work with the children.:

Rig frowned. “I’m not sure if you’re listening, Doctor Aarrrwan,” she said, just barely keeping a sneer out of her voice. She didn’t know what she had expected. Of course an outsider wouldn’t understand. They never understood. “We were an Order before the Republic was founded. Before the Thousand Years of Darkness. And even before the Old Republic. With all of that age, there probably has been instances of us treating children that have gone through similar experiences.”

:But do you know that for sure?: Aarrrwan’s warble was skeptical. :Didn’t your Great Archive go down with your Temple, how can you know without proper reference -:

Ice shot through Rig’s veins. “I beg your pardon?” she said, her voice so low and angry that she could barely recognize the person speaking even as the words tumbled from her lips. 

There was movement in the corners of her eyes, and distantly Rig was rather amused at how everyone seemed to straighten in their seats, sensing that Aarrrwan had crossed a line. 

Rig let the silence draw out for several seconds before speaking again. “To answer your question, Doctor Aarrrwan, yes, our Great Archive was destroyed along with our Temple. As were many of our Knights. Many of our Masters. And nearly all of our younglings.”

“Knight Nema.” Master Unduli’s voice was soft, and barely audible over the ringing in Rig’s ears. 

“Do you know what it was like in there during the attack, Doctor Aarrrwan? Doctor Tigu? Do you know what it’s like trying to evacuate a medbay with a battlion of war droids breaking down the doors? Do you know what it’s like trying desperately to find children in a battle zone? Do you know what it’s like to hear silence coming from the creche and seeing commando droids walking out?” Rig was standing now. Master Unduli’s hands were on her shoulders, trying to push her back into her seat and failing miserably. “Do you know what it’s like, being crammed into a LAART with a dozen children and trying to soothe them as they scream in their sleep, remembering how they saw their friends and siblings being slaughtered in droves as an entire planet watches and does nothing, nothing at all, after your family has sacrificed everything they hold sacred to protect them!?” There was a rattling noise all around her, little knicknacks on the surrounding shelves shaking along with her. “I know, my dear doctors. I am the one who treated our younglings during our first years of exile, I am the one -”

“KNIGHT NEMA.” Master Unduli’s voice was thunderous, slicing through Rig’s rage.

Abruptly, she became aware that she was not the only one standing now. Aarrrwan’s chair had fallen back onto the ground as he tried to get away from her, his back pressed tight against the wall. Tigu was standing to the side, not squashed back against the wall but near to it, his fingers scrabbling at his belt. And General Kleeve; he had a blaster in one hand and a comm in the other, watching her with wide, wary eyes. 

One of the knicknacks that she had been rattling was a small clay pot, coloured sick yellow and brown. It wobbled and rattled to itself for several seconds before finally coming to a stop, the sound now loud in the silent room.

Rig was a Jedi Knight. She should not have lost control like that.

Drawing herself up, she pulled what remained of her shredded dignity tight around her. “My apologies,” she murmured into the ringing silence. “It appears that this topic is rather closer to my heart than I thought.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “Perhaps we should take a break before continuing.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Master Unduli said. “It’s rather close to dinner time, if I’m not mistaken. Tomorrow, then?”

“I think that I’m amenable to that.” General Kleeve’s voice had a small quaver to it. Rig bowed to him before heading to the door.

She didn’t stick around as it slid shut behind her, walking away as quickly as she could without actually breaking into a run. Master Unduli hadn’t come out with her, no doubt smoothing things over with the Resistance on Rig’s behalf.

She shouldn’t have done that. She shouldn’t have lost it - she was a Knight, for Force’s sake! She was supposed to be in control -

The medbay was nearly empty, thankfully. Just the patients in their beds, most of whom were asleep already, despite the relatively early hour. Rig couldn’t help but be glad of that as she headed towards the small room that she’d claimed as her office on-base. Embarrassing as her slip was, she didn’t want to have to stop and talk to anyone. She was a Knight -

She hit the button and stepped in, only to stop at the sight of Tharassa. Sitting on her chair with a datapad in her hands, the blue-skinned girl stared back at her with a faintly terrified look on her face. 

The door slid shut behind Rig with a soft thump. 

Tharassa’s red eyes were wide, flicking between Rig and the door behind her. The glow of the datapad washed out her blue skin to something sickly and pale, making her look more like a Dathomiran Nightsister with an eye infection than anything else. 

“Hello there, Tharassa,” Rig said softly. She took a step towards the girl, stopping when she flinched. “What do you have there, then?”

For several long heartbeats, Tharassa just stared. Then reluctantly and with a fine tremor to the movements, she showed what she had been looking at on the datapad.

A medical text. On mind-healing. With a dictionary called up in a small, separate section of the screen. 

“Oh, Tharassa,” Rig said, understanding flooding her and pushing away the shame that had been overwhelming only a few seconds ago. She stepped closer and put a gentle hand on the girl’s back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about how bored you must be in here while Aji’s healing.”

Tharassa ducked her head, still trembling slightly under Rig’s hand and her ears flushing a deep dark blue.

Gently taking the datapad from Tharassa’s limp hands, she banished the medical text with all of its dense terms and tiny font, and went to a small sub-folder. Picking out one of the files, she opened it and then handed the pad back, trying to smile non-threateningly. 

“I think that you might find these a little more to your taste,” she said, catching the girl’s eye. Her smile widened as Tharassa looked back, the trembling coming to a stop. “Far less technical.”

Tharassa took the pad from her and looked over the title, her eyes darting between it and Rig.

“They’re stories that I was told as I grew up in the creche,” Rig said. “Stories that all Jedi learn. Our history and entertainment, blurred together.” She had crouched down beside Tharassa as she fiddled with the pad and now stood back up again. On an impulse, she smoothed her hand over Tharassa’s thick black hair. “I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.”

But the girl had already flipped it open, staring down at the illustrations that were included in this edition. The Mask of Revan stared up at her, stark reds standing out against the blacks. The ancient Sith Lord’s name was picked out in bold lettering underneath it, and she was drawing one blue finger along it, mouthing the sounds under her breath.

Rig’s gaze was soft as she looked down at the girl. At least she could do this right.

* * *

Snacks appropriate for a long night of vid-watching were not easy to get your hands on in the Resistance. It took time, patience and a lot of trading to get their hands on the sweets and salty fried tubers that were traditional to such an endeavor. 

Thankfully, that was something that Jai and a lot of the other kids were well experienced with. Growing up on an Imperial world and not being filthy rich meant that you were at least vaguely familiar with the black market from an early age, after all, and it hadn’t taken much to get back into the swing of things. 

So now they were all curled up in a bunk room, the holoprojector almost set up, snacks in their laps, when Luke Skywalker walked in. 

“Hey,” he asked, standing in the doorway, “has anyone seen Galen?”

“Who?” asked Dhara, who was sitting beside Jai.

Luke frowned at her and cocked his head to one side. “Galen. The other kid from the tower?” He jerked his chin towards Jai. “Jai knows him.”

Jai winced and sank down in his seat, praying that -

\- nope. Nope, he wasn’t going to be that lucky. Luke was frowning at him now, his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Jai…” the other boy said slowly. “You said that you’d invited him.”

Great, now everyone was looking at him. Jai looked down at his snack, a bunch of little fish dried until they were crunchy little bites of salt. “I did,” he mumbled, knowing that he was convincing precisely no one. “He wasn’t interested.”

Luke’s footsteps were loud in the hush that had suddenly fallen over the room. They stopped right in front of Jai. He could see the brown of the leather and squirmed in his seat. “Jai.”

Ugh. Jai hadn’t known the other boy for long; only something like four months, but he was already well-acquainted with that particular disappointed tone that didn’t belong in a boy the same age as him. 

“Jai, I talked to him a week ago when we were still planning this and he was plenty interested.”

Jai shrugged, irritation tightening his throat, and shoved a handful of the fish into his mouth. “He changed his mind,” he muttered.

“Ah, hell, Jai,” Dhara said from beside him, “did you scare him off again?”

“It’s not like I threatened him -”

But Dhara was shaking her head, frustration coating her features. “Damn it, Jai, this can’t keep happening. It’s not fair that you keep chasing him away from people.”

Jai gritted his teeth. “It’s not like he’s friends with us -”

“Yeah, because you won’t let him close to any of us,” one of the kids working on the projector muttered.

Jai lost his temper. Slamming his bowl down on ground, he stood up and glared around the room hotly. “Yeah, because I care about you guys! He’s dangerous!”

“We’re all dangerous, Jai.” Dhara didn’t get up like him, but her tone was as hot as his. “We all did terrible things to each other there. He’s not the one to blame for what he did there, it was the Eighth Brother and the other guards -”

Jai saw red. Spinning on his heel, he turned and marched out of the room, ignoring the calls that followed him.

We all did terrible things. It’s not his fault. Blah blah blah…

The fish in his stomach were churning now. He could taste acid on the back of his tongue. 

Didn’t they realize that he knew that?

He could still remember the sound that the other boy had made the first time the bar had connected with his skull. That awful little yelp, that little cut-off noise where he hadn’t managed to finish his sentence about ganging up on the Eighth Brother’s pet. The hot slick feeling of blood on his hands, the way his hands and wrists and shoulders and back had ached…

Yeah. They’d all done horrible things to each other. It had been the Eighth Brother pushing his pet forward. Jai knew all of that, and it still didn’t make the fear go away.

That awful, choking fear that could only be kept at bay with anger. That fear that had him staring at the bunk above him at night. That fear that no one else understood because the pet had killed everyone else that possibly could have!

Storming into the empty room where he’d been bunking with a couple other kids, Jai flopped onto his bed and pulled out the datapad he’d gotten from the junk pile a few days ago. When they’d received the vids from a few smugglers, everyone had made a few copies for themselves. Even if everyone else had gotten on the judgement express, that didn’t mean that he couldn’t have his own fun.

Old as the datapad was, it apparently hadn’t been wiped before getting thrown into the recycling pile. Jai had been meaning to go through and delete the extra files, but had never found the time to do so, and regretted it as he hit the wrong file. Cursing, he tapped at the icon to close the it, only to have a box pop up and flash at him. 

Password needed - Jai was halfway through an irritated roll of his eyes when he realized what that meant. 

Password needed. Shouldn’t have files like that been deleted before the datapad was thrown out? 

Someone knocked at the room’s door. Jai looked up from his bunk.

“Jai?” Luke called through the door. “Jai, can I come in?”

A curl of anger wound through his chest. He narrowed his eyes at the door. “No,” he said childishly. “Go away.”

Instead of doing that, the door opened, spilling in light from the hallway for a brief moment as the blond boy stepped in. Then it slid shut, trapping them both in the room.

“Jai,” Luke began, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble, or make you angry. I just don’t like seeing someone purposely excluded, you know? Especially someone who wants to be included as badly as Galen.”

Jai gritted his teeth. “I know,” he ground out, staring down at his datapad. “I know that. It’s just -” His hands were shaking. Jai sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “It’s just that me and him are literally the only survivors from that tower. The only ones. And he’s the reason for that.”

Luke was silent. 

“I just - I know that it was the guards and the Eighth Brother and the other Inquisitors that made him do it but my emotions don’t care, okay.” He hunched his shoulders up around his ears. “I look at him, and I’m scared. I’m back in that tower, and people are dying, and I’m scared. And that really sucks when you’re trying to like, watch a vid.”

“Well, maybe if you actually talked to him -”

“Damn it, Luke, are you even listening?” Jai slammed the pad down on the bed in a sudden surge of anger. It made a disappointingly soft thwump. “I’m scared of him - not shy! I go near him and just remember those kriffed-up sparring sessions the guards put us through with him! It’s like I’m back there, like I never left -” He choked, biting back the words and the tears that were suddenly welling up in his eyes. Scrubbing at his face, he rested his elbows on his knees. “He scares me, and I hate it, so I hate him.”

There was a long silence from Luke. Then the sound of footsteps, and the mattress dipping down beside him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that it was that bad for you.”

“It’s no excuse, though,” Jai muttered. “I’m an asshole to him and I know it. I just - don’t want him near me, or when he’s near I want him to go away as soon as possible.”

There was another long silence between the two of them. Then -

“Have you tried - talking to anyone about this?” Luke’s tone was delicate. Tentative, like he was defusing a bomb. “Any of the doctors?”

Jai scoffed. The doctors were way too busy arguing with each other about how best to treat them to actually, you know, help. From the way he could feel Luke wincing beside him, he had the feeling that Luke knew that as well.

“Well, okay, not the doctors, but maybe one of the Masters?” Luke suggested. “I know you’ve been talking with Master Unduli a lot, does she know anything about this?”

Jai sniffed and wiped at his eyes one last time. “…No,” he mumbled. “I mean, she’s encouraged me to be nice to him, but I’ve never told her about all of - that.” He made a helpless gesture. “I don’t know, I’m not even sure how much I like the Jedi and being a part of them, it doesn’t seem fair -” He froze as he remembered who he was sitting beside.

Luckily, though, Luke didn’t seem to mind; he just grinned ruefully at Jai, reaching out and giving his knee a pat. “Well, maybe you should give it a try,” he suggested. “I mean, I know for a fact that she likes you, Uncle Ben won’t stop teasing her about it whenever you visit.”

“Teases?” Jai blinked, boggled at the idea of the serene and stoic Jedi teasing each other. 

“Yeah.” Luke was still smiling. “But really - she is a very wise Master. I’m sure that if you just explained things to her, she’d be able to help you. And maybe she could help you understand what being a part of the Order is like more too.”

Jai chewed on his lower lip for a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he said, still internally reeling a bit from the realization that the Jedi sometimes teased each other. “Maybe I will ask her then.”

Luke beamed at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, sorry, had to take a step back and check in with everyone else! Juggling multiple storylines is hard...


	9. Uncomfortable Conversations

This time, Rahm didn’t wake up due to pain. Shifting on his mattress, he could still feel the fog that his pain pills caused floating around in his head. It was lighter than usual, meaning that he was probably due for another dose soon, but it definitely wasn’t pain that had woken him.

So then what was it? Rahm reached out through the Force -

Ah. 

Loneliness and fear, twined tight to each other, met his probing. It was the boy again.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with the rest of the kids?” Rahm rasped out after wetting his lips. “It’s got to be pretty late.”

The boy was still, feeling like a drizzling rain in the Force; constant and uncomfortable for anyone caught within it. “…The others are watching holovids.”

Grunting, Rahm rolled over so that he was properly facing the kid. “That’s nice. Any reason you’re not watching vids with them?”

“They don’t want me to.”

Well ouch. The kid’s voice was completely neutral, not even hurt. Like he had fully expected this. “That sucks kid.”

There was a rustle, like the kid was moving, and then part of the mattress dipped down. Something tickled at Rahm’s bare arm - hair. The kid was lying back and resting his head on Rahm’s mattress. 

“It just means that I have to work harder with Master Taa,” the kid said, still in that matter-of-fact tone. 

“Oh? And what’s Master Taa helping you with?” Rahm asked. Later, he’d probably be cranky about the lost sleep, but the mention of his friend tickled at his curiosity. Taa was a creche master, not a mind-healer, so what would she be helping the kid out with?

“She’s helping me prepare to be a Jedi.” 

…Okay, that made sense, since that basically was a creche master’s job, but Rahm wasn’t quite making the connection between that and getting along with the other kids.

Whatever. He was still half-drunk anyways. It would probably make sense in the morning. 

They lay there in silence for a few minutes. The boy was still and silent, the machinery rumbling around them like a tooka’s purr. Rahm could feel sleep tugging him back down into its embrace when the boy spoke again. 

“Are you a Jedi too?”

Rahm sighed, pulling himself out of his doze. “What?”

“Are you a Jedi?” The boy shifted, the dip in the mattress moving up slightly. “Everyone else here is one but you don’t look like one, and Master Taa’s the only one that talks to you.”

The scar tissue on Rahm’s face pulled as he raised an eyebrow. “Anyone ever tell you that you need to work on your social skills kid?”

“No,” the kid replied. “There was only ever my father. He said I was fine the way I was.”

“Your father, eh?” Only a father. Rahm supposed that that just helped make the kid a target for the Inquisitorius. Easier to take out one parent than two. “But yeah, kid, I’m a Jedi.” Not much of one, now, but it wasn’t really a title that could be taken away.

“Did you ever have a padawan?”

A lump suddenly swelled up in Rahm’s throat and his chest tightened. “…Yeah.”

Kento, he wanted to say. His name was Kento Marek. If Rahm had still had eyes to close, he would have done so as the memory of his padawan swam upwards in his mind.

Dark brown hair. Blue eyes. A frown that only seemed to disappear while he was fighting with his lightsaber.

His padawan, that he failed so completely. That damned mission that had stolen his smile completely.

Rahm rolled onto his back and rubbed his face as the memories came pouring in. 

That damned, miserable mudball. They’d begged the Jedi for help and then did nothing but complain and criticize as he and his padawan had tried to do just that. 

He couldn’t even remember what the two sides had been fighting about. Honestly, he was pretty sure even at the outset of the mission that they couldn’t remember what they had been fighting about either, caught up in a cycle of revenge and swearing revenge until it was disrupting entire trade routes - that was when they’d been sent in, on request of one of the sides.

What have followed their arrival had been two unrelenting years of fighting. Ambushes, assassins and death had followed them like they were their shadows. They’d been attacked over and over as they had tried to find peace between the two factions, forcing them to fight and flee in turns until one day Rahm had looked up from their most recent ambush and seen a glint of yellow in his padawan’s eyes.

He hadn’t handled it well. He’d grabbed Kento and shouted at him, stress crackling along the edges of his nerves, saying things that he hadn’t meant but that had sounded real rolling off of his tongue. Things that chased away the yellow only to have it be replaced by shadows and a sheen of tears.

Eventually, they’d managed to settle a fragile peace and get off of the planet. They’d come back to the Temple, and settled back into the rhythms of life there. But the shadows that Rahm had put in his padawan’s eyes hadn’t gone away. A gulf had opened up between them, one that he didn’t know how to heal. 

Then Geonosis had happened. The two of them, with two years of fighting for their lives, had been natural choices to come and face down the Separatists. The sun had been so bright and hot, staining the rocks around them red. Rahm had fought and fought and fought in that arena, and when he’d looked up his padawan was gone.

The tunnels, he’d been told. He’d been forced into the tunnels, and none of the search parties had found him. All they’d found was shattered casing of his lightsaber.

“Yeah,” Rahm said, unable to keep his voice from cracking slightly. “I had a padawan.”

The boy was silent for a long moment. Then a small, callused hand gingerly touched his shoulder.

The sounds of engine room seemed to fall away in the darkness and the grief, leaving the boy’s words to float to him unimpeded.

“Through death, all things rejoin the Force.”

It shouldn’t have hurt, hearing that. Kento had never been one for sayings and bookwork, but he’d ended up saying that particular obscure saying so often on that damned mission that Rahm could hear it in his voice now, soft and sad and just plain tired.

It had happened nearly twenty years ago, and a good Jedi would have let it all go many years ago. A good Jedi wouldn’t have had to run off in the Temple Guard and tried to erase the person that had loved Kento Marek so much that losing him made him feel like he was dying. A good Jedi wouldn’t have needed a boy to say such words.

A sob beat in his chest. Where once Rahm would have cried, he could only feel the scars where his eyes had once been start burning. His hands twitched and grasped at the blankets covering him like they were an anchor keeping him from floating away. Breaths hissed in and out through his teeth, his whole body aching, until he could speak again. “Taa teach you that?”

There was the soft rasp of movement, and he realized that the boy was shaking his head. 

“No,” he said. “My father did.” 

“Galen.” 

Despite the lack of ‘s’ sounds, the speaker managed to hiss the boy’s name. Pushing back his grief, Rahm twisted in his blanket and turned his useless face towards the speaker. “Taa.”

“Rahm.” Taa’s shoes tapped softly as she stepped forward from where she had been lurking. A faint thread of irritation was twisting through her Force signature, like a charred wire wrapping around his tongue. “My apologies for him interrupting your sleep.”

He found himself rising to the kid’s - Galen, she’d called him - defense. “It’s fine. I don’t sleep well anyways.”

“All the more reason for him to leave you alone.” Her voice was cold. Strangely so - or was it? Wasn’t she usually warmer when talking to a youngling? “Come along now, Galen. If you have time to bother other Jedi, you have time to work with me.”

“Yes, Master.” The small hand disappeared from Rahm’s shoulder, leaving him oddly bereft and alone, and the sound of the door to the engine room hissing open and closed reached his ears.

Through death, all things rejoin the Force. A trite little saying, obscure and not often heard outside of the Order. It had come from an old document on the different forms; so old that it only covered the first four, in fact. Kento had read it cover to cover so many times…

The boy - Galen - had said that his father had taught him that saying. Did that mean…

Curling back underneath his blanket, Rahm rubbed at his face and pushed the curiosity back. It was the middle of the night, and Taa had the boy - Galen - now. He would just have to ask later. For now, though, he should get as much sleep as he could.

But still…

Through death, all things rejoin the Force. The saying chased him into his dreams.

* * *

Kanan’s jaw was locked tight, the tail-end of a trail of tight muscles that went all the way down to his heels.

Walking through the lobby of a very fancy hotel, its lights dimmed in deference to the hour, he couldn’t keep his eyes from darting around and looking for traps.

What were the chances of coming across another group of people that were looking for the codes to Imperial channels? What were the chances that they would be high-ranked within the Empire itself but willing to commit treason? If it weren’t for the Force prodding him along like a finger jabbing into his spine, Kanan would have run for the hills back in the alleyway, not followed this impossible group back to their base of operations. 

Up a lift they went, then down a hallways with a carpet so thick that his knee-high boots sank into it, then to a set of doors inlaid with fancy geometric patterns picked out in what looked to be real gold and electrum. Pausing at them, the dark-skinned human that had introduced himself as Kandal rapped out a pattern on them. 

The door opened almost a soon as the last knock had hit, revealing a tall, freckled man with bright red hair who took one look at their group and glared at Kandal.

Kandal raised his hands. “Just let us in and I’ll explain,” he said in a low voice. “There’s a reason why I brought them back.”

“There had better be,” the red-haired man said in a similar low tone. He opened the door wider and stood to the side, allowing them in. “Come on now, before any more people see you.”

Kanan, who had been very aware of the very non-human Twi’lek and Lasat that he’d been tromping through the hotel with, was more than happy to oblige. All three of them beat the Mandalorians in by several inches.

The door shut behind them with a final-sounding click. 

Automatically, Kanan found himself casing the place in case things went sour. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zeb start doing the same while Hera took up a position in front of them, drawing their ‘host’s’ attention.

“Alright, Kandal,” she said, lifting her chin, “you said you wanted to talk to us. So talk.”

A penthouse suite. They were in what was clearly a reception room, but Kanan could see a doorway set off to the side, leading to the rest of the suite. The reception room itself was filled with several severe-looking chairs and couches. Most were angled to face the large vid-screen that was set into the wall, but a few were turned to face the balcony, leaving indentations in the carpet to indicate their original positions. There was a table against the wall as they had come in, similarly severe as the furniture, with what looked to be a crystal vase on it that was filled with small, dark purple flowers. A set of sliding glass doors were set in the wall opposite of where they had come in, leading out to a balcony, the sheen on the glass letting him know that no one would be blasting their way in that way.

Or out, Kanan through grimly.

“Yes, Kandal,” the red-haired man said with a warning lilt to his voice, “please enlighten us as to your reasons for taking such a risk as bringing back a group of people you just met to our rooms.” He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, clad in a sleek white shirt that was open at the collar, revealing that it was not just his face that had freckles. One of his fingers was drumming a slow, steady beat on his bicep as he pinned the man where he stood.

“Okay first, let us just say that we got the codes,” the one in the red dress that had been introduced as Fokkay piped up.

“Got them right here,” the woman, Mahhae, chimed in, holding up the pen-like device.

The red-haired man stopped tapping his finger and switched to pinching the bridge of his nose. “Wonderful. Alright. Back to my question, though?”

“Yes, alor,” Kandal said, holding his hands up. “We found them during our own op - they were running the exact same thing.”

Kanan watched the man’s forehead crease, his teeth bared in a grimace of agonized exasperation. “Kandal, that’s no reason -”

“Fenn,” Kandal interrupted. “They have a missing kid too.”

Fenn looked up sharply from his exasperated slouch.

“Too?” The word slipped out of Kanan’s mouth before he could stop it. The Force was back, prodding at him sharply. 

Fenn’s gaze darted over to him. His jaw tightened. “…Aji. My nephew.” His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “He went to an Imperial Academy and disappeared.”

“And Saxon and his supercommandos have been trying to claim that he just ran away,” Kandal said darkly. “Thus, stealing the Imperial codes.”

…That was a rather familiar story. From the way Hera was looking at him, Kanan knew that she was thinking of the Katarns as well. And with such a familiar story…

Crossing his arms over his chest, Kanan shifted uncomfortably. Mandalorians, as a rule, were not fond of Jedi or Force-users in general. However, they did value family. Would this Fenn believe them -

“You know something.” 

Kanan looked up from the patch of carpet that his gaze had fallen on. The red-haired man was looking at him with a piercing gaze. Kanan found his own gaze sliding away under its intensity. 

Reaching up, he scratched at his goatee for a moment before answering. “Maybe.” He flicked his gaze to this Fenn and saw confusion. No hostility, though. That was good.

“Your nephew, Aji? Before he disappeared - did he ever…” Kanan shrugged, making a vague gesture, “just seem to know things? Not be surprised, know when you were coming, that sort of thing? Be overly-coordinated for his age?”

“What?” Fokkay piped up, confusion written across their face. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’ll explain once you answer,” Kanan said quietly. “It could have everything to do with it, or nothing at all.”

That had the Mandalorians looking at each other, a conversation made entirely of facial expressions and aborted gestures passing between them in the space of seconds before they turned back to him. “Aji had the highest physical and weaponry scores in his year at the Sundari Academy,” Fenn said, his shoulders squared. “Before he disappeared, there was apparently talk about moving him into a special program for high achievers.”

Kanan’s stomach flopped. Oh yeah, this was sounding very familiar. “How high were those scores? Were they still within human norms?”

“What are you getting at?” Fenn asked, his eyes narrowing. 

Kanan swallowed. “Please just answer the question.”

A muscle in Fenn’s jaw twitched. “…Just at the very edge of human norms.”

Shit. Zeb muttered something rude behind him as Kanan struggled with how to say this. From underneath his eyelashes, he could see the red-haired man stiffening, his mouth opening to no doubt snap at them to cut the shit.

Kanan swallowed and looked down at the floor. “Your nephew was taken by the Inquisitorius.”

The room hadn’t been loud before, but now it was so quiet he could have heard a credit chip hitting the floor. Looking up, Kanan saw that the Mandalorians had all gone pale.

“…What?” Fenn whispered. “What could the Inquisitorius want with Aji?”

Kanan pressed his lips into a line. “From what you said, it sounds like your nephew was Force-sensitive, and was discovered at the Sundari Academy.” The words were dropping out of his mouth like leaden weights, hard and heavy. “Once that happened, it was reported to the Inquisitorius and he was collected under the excuse of being chosen for an exclusive Imperial training program.” Memories of the reports that he’d read that had been plucked from the data stored at Dromund Kaas rose up, detailing the standard operating procedure for stealing the children of the Empire from their families and how to deal with any questions. “He was then taken to secret facility, where they began the process of breaking him into an Inquisitor.”

“Breaking -” Mahhae’s voice was hushed and horrified, already knowing what Kanan was talking about. 

He forced the word out anyway. “Torture.”

Silence met his words. Risking a glance up, he saw that Fenn’s head was bowed, his hands covering his face as his shoulders trembled. His friends, the ones that had brought them here, were in similar states, either pale and trembling or trying uselessly to comfort the man. 

The words were falling uncontrollably from his mouth now. “Frankly, considering how their standard operating procedure works, I’m surprised that you’re still alive to even ask about this. Most parents and guardians were killed to prevent just that.”

“Stop.” The red-haired man’s voice was weak and trembling. “Just - stop, for a moment.”

Kanan closed his mouth. Hera’s hand, small yet strong, slipped into his. Looking at her, he saw the same pity and sorrow on her face that he could feel churning in his gut. 

Scrubbing at his face, Fenn straightened, audibly swallowing, and shrugged off the comforting hands of his friends. “How do you even know of this?” he asked quietly, not quite accusing them. “I can’t imagine that this is something known to many within the Empire.”

“It’s not,” Hera said, her voice equally as quiet. “I doubt that you haven’t figured it out yet, but - we’re with the Resistance.”

Fenn’s lips twitched slightly. “The Resistance, huh? You’re known as the Rebellion in Imperial space.”

Hera brushed his comment away with a gesture. “Almost eight months ago, we found a child in a special cell in an Imperial star destroyer.” She squeezed Kanan’s hand. “He was chained up and muzzled like an animal.”

This time, there was no smart comment from Fenn or any of the others. They were watching them now like hawks, their focus laser-like in its intensity.

“We freed him, and after he was released from the med-bay, he asked to join us.” Kanan could feel Hera look at him fondly. “Apparently, he didn’t want to be too far from his rescuers.”

“But then people started going through the information that was found in the ship’s databanks,” Zeb rumbled, “and they found out that the person in that cell was supposed to be an Inquisitor trainee.”

“The boy -” Fenn’s brow wrinkled for a second, and then smoothed. “He was from this program.”

Kanan nodded. “He told the Resistance everything after he was confronted. He was so scared, he just wanted to run -” His voice cracked, and he stopped. 

Ezra. Force, he had to be so scared right now, too. He’d been feeling little flutters along their bond all day, and had barely been able to focus in that bar with the worry gnawing at his guts. 

“Thanks to him, we were able to raid one of the Inquisitorius’ training facilities,” Hera continued smoothly, taking over the narration once more. “We managed to save three hundred children from there. All thanks to Ezra.”

“I see,” Fenn murmured. He ran a hand through his hair. “You say you saved three hundred children -”

“I don’t know if your nephew was among them,” Kanan interrupted quietly. Now he was the one squeezing Hera’s hand. “I don’t know all of the kids’ names; honestly, I’ve been focusing pretty hard on Ezra.”

“You’ve been -” Kandal said. His eyes narrowed. 

Kanan ignored him. “But we saved all that we could. Honestly, everything I’ve seen in the data that was retrieved says that three hundred was an unusually high amount to still be alive by that point.” He wet his lips with his tongue. “I’m sorry that your nephew was taken. I’m sorry that I can’t give you a proper answer. But Ezra - the kid that made all of that happen - he’s been captured by the Empire again. We had a mission, and we got separated. And if you help us get him back, I will do everything in my power to help you find out what happened to him.”

Fenn looked at them for a long, long moment. So long that Kanan could feel a drop of sweat slipping down his back. Then he wiggled his jaw and turned slightly, gesturing to the chairs and couches in the room. 

“Sit down then,” he said quietly. “We have a lot planning to do.”

* * *

Sabine pressed her hands against her face and breathed.

She didn’t know how long she’d been out. After the blow that the security droid had hit her with, she had slipped into unconsciousness quickly, and had only woke up once she was in this cell.

This Imperial cell. Scrubbing at her face, she put her hands back into her lap and glared balefully at the blank black walls that surrounded her. Panic and fear and anger churned in a noxious mess in her stomach and chest, making it hard to breathe. 

God, why had she gone for her blasters? If she had just gone along, acted like a frightened spacer’s brat, the worst that could have happened would have been a night in the nearest city garrison’s holding cells. No one would have bothered running a facial scan, or treating them as anything other than a nuisance. 

But no, she had panicked, the fear sparking from one nerve to the other, and she had gotten stupid. And now she was in a proper Imperial cell, with Ezra nowhere to be seen, and that meant that their identities were being scanned -

There was a sharp beep from the door. Sabine whipped her head up from where she had been letting it hang to see the door hiss open, revealing a set of four people. 

Sabine only paid attention to one. A blond man, with strange facial hair and wearing a familiar black uniform.

ISB.

Yeah, they had definitely run an identity scan.

“Sabine Wren,” the man said as he walked down the stairs, the other three following him. It wasn’t a question. “I have a few questions for you.”

Sabine curled her hands into fists in her lap and glared at him, keeping her mouth stubbornly shut. 

The man didn’t seem to mind. His face still and neutral, he gestured to the two roundheads that had entered the cell with him. The began to move towards her. 

Grinding her teeth together, she glared at their helmet-covered faces as they grabbed her arms and forced her to her feet.

The blond ISB agent folded his arms behind him, studying her with cold brown eyes. “Cadet Leonis. Pay close attention.”

A cadet? Sabine glanced over at the last figure that had come in, noting its shortness. A high achiever, then. She’d been the same, before everything. Hell, she even remembered being on the other side of this situation. 

Of course, she’d thrown up afterwards. From the way this cadet was mimicking the agent’s posture, she doubted that that would be a problem for him. 

“Understood, sir,” the cadet said crisply, his helmet hiding his expression. 

The agent nodded and turned back to Sabine. “Sabine Wren,” he said. “Former cadet of the Sundari Imperial Academy.” He took a step towards her. “I will admit that I was surprised to see you here.”

“Wasn’t expecting to be here, either,” Sabine bit out. 

The agent raised an eyebrow. “Obviously. I am Agent Kallus, of the Imperial Security Bureau. I will be handling your interrogation now. Cooperate, and this will go quickly. Don’t, and you will regret it.”

“Over what?” Sabine said sourly, even as her mind raced. “Last I checked, a cadet deserting doesn’t merit a visit from the ISB.”

Agent Kallus’ lip curled slightly. “No, but being a rebel does.”

“A rebel?”

Kallus looked over his shoulder. Sabine wondered sourly to herself why the cadet sounded so surprised; did he honestly think that the ISB troubled itself with riffraff? No, they only stirred themselves for sedition against the Empire, not stupid kids.

“Yes, cadet?” Kallus’ tone was full of warning.

The cadet’s head dipped. “My apologies, sir. I only thought that the interrogation of a rebel would take place inside of an interrogation cell, rather than in holding.”

The agent made a thoughtful noise. “A reasonable question. For most captured rebels, yes, that is normal procedure.” He turned back to Sabine, his eyes glittering. “For those involved in the assault and kidnapping of Imperial cadets, however…”

The agent was a tall, muscular man. Broad shoulders, big hands. Strong fingers, now digging into Sabine’s jaw. 

“…a little tenderizing is not looked askance at.”

Sabine was almost thankful for the door opening behind the agent. The way that his fingers were digging into her jaw promised pain, and his words had sent her mind spinning. Kidnapping Imperial cadets? The Resistance didn’t do that - even if it was for purely practical reasons, kidnapping cadets made no sense, they didn’t know enough for it to be worth it -

…Wait. No, could he be talking about -

The door to the cell hissed open.

“Agent Kallus.” A short, helmeted being, clothed entirely in black with what Sabine recognized was a lightsaber strapped to their hip strode into the cell, a datapad in their outstretched hand. “Your paperwork for the transfer of the apprentice.”

Kallus scowled. “Inquisitor,” he said coldly. “Now is hardly the time.”

“The Grand Inquisitor was quite insistent that the apprentice be transferred to his custody as soon as possible,” the Inquisitor said, a threat running underneath its neutral tone.

The Grand Inquisitor. 

Sabine - stopped.

Everything - stopped.

The Grand Inquisitor. He was here. After everything - everything that had happened, all the blood and the pain and the tears and begging for help - he was here - he was here - he was here -

Agent Kallus was grimacing. He had taken the datapad. His hand was flicking over the screen.

Attacking and kidnapping Imperial cadets. He was talking about the assault on Dromund Kaas. How they’d taken down the Academy. Of course - of course the Empire had lied. Of course the Inquisitors had lied. They’d lied and made the Resistance into the bad guys, just how they’d made the protestors the bad guys, said that they were rebels and working with Republic remnants -

She couldn’t see the Inquisitor’s face, covered as it was, but she could tell that it wasn’t paying attention to her from its body language. Still as a predator about to strike, it was facing the agent silently, ignoring her presence completely. 

The agent was still grimacing. He was handing the datapad back. “It’s all in order, I suppose,” he said through gritted teeth. “I will oversee the handover as soon as I’m done here.”

“I’m afraid that the Grand Inquisitor does not wish to wait,” the Inquisitor began in a silky tone.

“You can’t!” The words exploded from Sabine’s mouth with all the force of one of her bombs. “You can’t hand him over to them!”

Kallus turned his head towards her and narrowed his eyes. “I’m afraid, Wren, that you don’t seem to realize that you’re a prisoner here. Prisoners do not have a say in Imperial matters.”

Ezra’s face flashed through her mind. The dead, empty look in his eyes as he talked about his escape attempt, as he talked to the Resistance, as he curled up next to Kanan. Dark shadows under his eyes, his cheeks streaked with tear tracks, lying pale and lifeless with his leg several feet from his body.

She gritted her teeth and lunged forward, ignoring how her shoulders screamed in pain, and looked the agent in the eye with all of the sincerity that she could muster. “You’ve talked to him. You’ve talked to Ezra.” It wasn’t a question; he had to have, judging from the way he and the Inquisitor were talking. “There’s no way that you haven’t noticed his reaction to Inquisitors.” She gestured to the Inquisitor with her chin. “You have to realize -”

“Shouldn’t she be in a proper interrogation chamber?” The Inquisitor asked, his voice poisonously mild.

Sabine had seen it - just a flicker of doubt in the agent’s eyes - and then the Inquisitor had spoken. That flash of doubt, of warmth, disappeared like a snowflake on an ice planet.

“I know how to do my job, Inquisitor,” he said, his voice icy. “I will admit, though, that you have a point. You two,” he said to the roundheads, “take her to interrogation room five. I will be there once the custody transfer is finished.”

“No!” Sabine lunged forward again, panic rising up in her throat.

“Cadet Leonis,” the agent said, ignoring her entirely, “follow the troopers. I will meet you in the interrogation room.”

The cadet, who had faded into the background as soon as the Inquisitor had entered, straightened his posture and saluted. “Yes sir!”

“Damn it, listen to me!” Sabine shouted as the agent and the Inquisitor turned to leave. “You don’t know what they’ve done - they’re lying to you!”

There was a click from behind her, almost too quiet to hear over the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. And then electricity ripped through her nerves, dancing along her body until everything faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's basically only talking this chapter. I swear, all of this stuff is to set things up later. As ever let me know what you think in the comments, and check out the TV Tropes page to help tide you over until the next update ;)
> 
> http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Fanfic/ChildrenOfTheForce


	10. History Lessons

“You’re sure that you can’t send a message back to your people now to check if my nephew’s with them?” Fenn Rau, Lord of the Concord Dawn system and head of House Rau and all of its allied clans, was witheringly suspicious.

Kanan ground his teeth together as Hera answered the same question for the sixth time without a flicker of the irritation he could see in her lekku. Sitting in a row on one of Rau’s couches, they had been going in circles for over an hour now.

Time that they didn’t have. Eying Rau, he found himself thinking some rather uncharitable thoughts at the man.

“As I’ve said every time before,” Hera replied, her voice even, “we don’t have a code set up for this situation. If your nephew truly was one of the children taken by the Inquisitorius, then the Empire will undoubtedly be alerted when they hear his name. I’m sorry, but we can’t take that risk. Besides any help that you can offer, we’re on our own.”

Fokkay grumbled, shifting in their seat and making the red dress that they hadn’t changed out of all night ride up. Kanan ignored them.

“Listen,” he said, tapping a finger on his knee, “getting back on track, we now have the access codes to the Imperial mainframe. What we now need is physical access to one of their terminals. You were saying something about getting that access for us?”

Rau rubbed at his face, looking irritated. “Yes, but it won’t be simple. The Empire hardly leaves its terminals just lying around.”

“Believe me,” Zeb rumbled, flicking his ears about in irritation, “we know.”

It was a show of just how irritated Hera was with how they were going in circles that she didn’t reprimand Zeb for his comment.

Rau shot Zeb a glare. “There’s also the problem that my previous inquiries into where my nephew is has drawn Saxon’s attention. Him and his lackeys know that I hate them and are hardly likely to let me or my people simply wander about one of their bases unescorted.”

Hera leaned forward in her seat, resting her elbows on her knees and lacing her fingers thoughtfully in front of her mouth. “So then what we need is an excuse.”

The woman sitting on Rau’s left had just opened her mouth to reply when there was a knock at the door. The knocking was clearly in a pattern, but the Mandalorians looked wary anyways.

“Should we be hiding now?” Kanan asked, his eyes flicking between the four Mandalorians sitting in front of him.

Kandal shook his head from where he was sitting on Rau’s right. “No, that’s the all-clear signal, but we weren’t expecting anyone this early in the morning.”

Glancing out of the set of sliding glass doors that lead to a balcony, Kanan noted the lightening of the sky with a twinge of surprise. Had they really been sitting here for that long already?

Getting up from his seat, Rau smoothed a hand over his hair. “Hiding, no, but do try to keep quiet.” Heading to the door, he opened it halfway. “Hello?”

Kanan couldn’t see who was at the door, but he could hear a low, nervous voice. “Alor, uh, we received a package from home, apparently you requested it?”

“A package?” Rau muttered, low enough that Kanan didn’t think that they were meant to hear. He reached through the doorway. “Very well, give it here. I’ll figure it out.”

“Yes, alor,” the person said, sounding relieved. “I’ll just be on my way then.”

Rau grunted and nodded, already closing the door. Turning back to them, Kanan saw that he was holding a surprisingly small metal box, barely bigger than the palm of his hand. Raising an eyebrow, he jerked his chin towards the little box.

“Anything good?” he asked.

Rau grunted again as he opened the box, his eyes flicking over to them. “Not your business - oh.”

Kanan raised his eyebrow a little higher. “Oh?”

Reaching up, Rau rubbed at his temple. “Can’t believe I forgot about this,” he muttered. He squeezed his eyes shut in a long blink before opening them again, his hand dropping to his side. “Right. Forget our troubles, I completely forgot that we have the perfect excuse to get into an Imperial base without being noticed.”

Kanan exchanged glances with Hera. “That’s…convenient. Mind expanding on it?”

Rau let out a long, low sigh through clenched teeth. “I had a meeting with Saxon a few days ago. About a - project, him and the Empire are spearheading.” He looked at them carefully. “Do any of you know about Compound Viszla?”

Something tickled at the back of Kanan’s mind, back in the memories of the Temple. A classroom, discussing the troubles swirling around the Neutral Systems and their leader, the Duchess Satine Kryze. 

“I…think I know something,” he said slowly, leaning forward to rest his jaw on the knuckles of one hand. “Something about it being the ancestral home of Clan Viszla?”

Rau nodded stiffly. “It’s that and more.” He was sitting with his back painfully straight. “House Viszla - it’s importance to the Mandalorian people cannot be overstated. Even with Pre Viszla’s actions -” the man grimaced, shaking his head. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “We Mandalorians have long memories. Before the Republic was founded, during the Thousand Years of Darkness and before, our leaders were not Dukes and Duchesses. They did not get their positions due to the luck of their birth. They were acclaimed, raised up by the Houses both great and small as the living exemplar of what a Mandalorian should strive to be -”

Kanan had always been a bit of a bookworm when he was Caleb, living cozy and snug in the Temple. Filled with questions, he had found a second home in the Temple’s archive, sneaking away to the high stacks of histories to learn why things were the way they were. That was why a single word swam to the top of his thoughts; an old title that he had read in a Jedi history of the Mandalorian Wars. “Mand’alor.”

Every person in the room turned their heads to look at him. He felt his cheeks heat. “That’s the person you’re talking about, right? The Mand’alor, great leader of the Mandalorian people and their empire, replaced with Dukes and Duchesses as part of the price of joining the Republic -”

Rau raised an eyebrow. “You know your history. Most don’t realize the price the Republic extracted from the Mandalorian people at the end of the Wars.”

Kanan shrugged, biting back the automatic reply that it had been for the greater good. The Mandalorian’s old system had been an unstable mess, their great armies and houses fracturing and falling into civil wars every time their leader died and dragging most of the surrounding systems with them. Saying that to a tentative ally’s face would only make things difficult.

“This Mandalore -” Hera began tentatively.

“Mand’alor,” Kandal corrected quietly. “It’s pronounced Mand’alor.”

“My apologies,” Hera said, “but I’m just wondering what an old traditional title has to do with anything. Not that the topic isn’t interesting, but you were saying that you had a way to get us to an Imperial terminal?”

Zeb stirred, crossing his arms over his chest. “Let the man speak, Hera. I got the feeling that this is important to understanding what’s going on on Concordia right now.”

Rau nodded, a look of gratitude fluttering over his face. “My thanks. Yes, it is important. As I was saying, the Mand’alors have always been important figures in our culture, but none are as important to current Mandalorians than the last - Mand’alor the Just, born as Tarre Viszla.”

…Huh. Kanan felt his eyebrows fly up to his hairline. A few things that had bothered him as a child reading about Mandalore’s troubles during the Clone Wars suddenly became a lot understandable. “Is that why so many people listened to Pre Viszla, then?”

Rau’s lips twisted. “I certainly think so. For all of their ranting about bringing back the good old days, Viszla was not shy about bringing up his illustrious bloodline as the reason for why he should be in charge.” 

Mahhae coughed pointedly.

Rau made a dismissive motion. “My apologies, I’m getting off-topic. What I was getting at was that Tarre Viszla was a very important historical figure. Correspondingly, the places that he lived are important as well.”

“And that’s where Compound Viszla comes in.” Kanan narrowed his eyes. “You were saying that the Empire was interested in it?”

Rau nodded. “With Pre Viszla dead, the Compound itself has passed into the ownership of the Viceroy. It was originally built by Mand’alor the Just as a base of operations while he was rising to power, and then later became his home. House Viszla claimed it as their seat of power after his death, but with no one of the bloodline left…” He spread his hands helplessly. “The place is filled with priceless historical artifacts - artifacts that now the Empire wants to loot.”

“And to do that, they need help,” Kandal suddenly jumped in. “Compound Viszla is a warren that’s been built onto by successive generations. Clan Viszla members were the only ones to truly know the entire place’s layout.”

“So they asked you?” Kanan looked over at Rau skeptically. “I kind of got the impression that you hated House Viszla.”

Rau looked up at him, his lips twisting again. “I do,” he bit out. “My ancestors, however, liked them quite a bit. House Rau was one of Mand’alor the Just’s first and closest allies. Because of that, I’m one of the few people that has records of the oldest parts of the Compound. Saxon decided that the Empire needs those records.” He nodded towards the box. “They’re in the box, and I’ll be bringing them to him at the beginning of the summit.” His gaze sharpened. “That will be your chance to reach the terminal. We’re allowed guards at the summit - they won’t notice one extra slipping away.”

Kanan scratched at his jaw. “I’m wanted in Imperial space, though,” he pointed out. “All of us are. Walking into an Imperial summit -”

But Rau was shaking his head. “Guards, not guests,” he said. “I know Saxon and his supercommandos. He thinks that we’re broken, that we wouldn’t dare go against him. He knows that we’re aware of the scrutiny we’re under. He wouldn’t dream that we’d have the shabs to sneak in a wanted criminal to his summit.” He spat out the last word like it was something filthy. “If nothing else, I can guarantee that Saxon will be too busy gloating over me to notice one of my guards slipping off.” He nodded to Hera and Zeb. “I’m afraid that you might not quite fit in, but your friend Kanan here would certainly not attract much attention.”

“I’d still feel better if -” Kanan began.

But he never finished the sentence. 

Kanan knew, intellectually, that Masters and padawans shared emotions through their bonds if they weren’t shielding themselves. Hell, he’d shared emotions with Ezra more than once, calming and soothing him during the long weeks before and after the Dromund Kaas raid. But before, it had always only been when he lowered his shields and let the kid in.

The surge of fear that smashed through his shields, overwhelming his mind to the point that he couldn’t speak was like nothing he had ever felt before. The closest he could compare it too was when they were back on the space station, with Ezra going by the name of his dead friend. The higher-ups had been alerted that Ezra had been taught by the Inquisitors and had been hunting for him, and Kanan had been desperately trying to find him first. Down in the depths of the station’s cargo hold, he’d found Ezra swimming in a sea of his own fear.

Where that fear had been a sea, this fear was like the sky. Neverending. All-encompassing. Impossible to escape.

Distantly, he could hear people talking. There was something wet on his cheeks, and he couldn’t breathe, but all he could think about was Ezra.

Ezra. Ezra needed him. Surrounded by his padawan’s fear, the only thing that he could hold onto was the knowledge that his padawan needed him to keep calm. 

Turning inward, he felt for the bond that they had and that was currently pumping terror into his mind. It was a wire, now, with lightning crackling along it where it once was a warm golden rope. It was digging into him, jerking and twisting as shocks of fear jumped along it and sank into him and made his heart pound so loud it drowned out everything else. It was so hard to focus, to pull himself away enough to focus -

Kanan sucked in a deep breath. Here and now, he was fine. They were getting help to rescue Ezra. He wrapped those thoughts and feelings around his hands reached out along the bond.

This time, the lightning retreated. Tugging gently at the thoughts, he unwound them from his hands just enough that their ends could catch on the wire that was their bond. The lightning crackled and reached out for him, but with him centered, it couldn’t reach him. The strands of his thoughts began to coil along the bond and pushed the lightning back, further and further, re-spinning it back to the warm golden cord that was their bond.

Ezra. It’s okay. You’re not alone, and we’re coming for you.

Only once the lightning had faded away entirely did Kanan come back to himself. Slowly, his head throbbing and body aching, he began to hear the sounds of arguing.

“- dumb enough to bring a Jedi to the Mandalore system?” someone hissed.

“Not quite a Jedi,” Kanan mumbled, forcing himself to sit up. Damn, had he actually fallen? 

Two pairs of strong hands helped him up. Glancing down, he tried to blink away some of the blurriness. Green and purple; Hera and Zeb. 

“What the hell does that even mean?” someone snapped. There was a shock of red hair, floating in front of him.

“Well, he did say that he was taking care of one of the kids that your Force-sensitive nephew was taken with…”

“Kandal this is not the time!”

Reaching up, Kanan rubbed at his face. One of his cheekbones was tender - so he had fallen. “Look,” he said tiredly, “I wasn’t exactly trying to hide it, and if you’re worried that this happens a lot, don’t. Ezra was just having some sort of panic attack - he hasn’t had one in a long time, so I was unprepared.”

His vision having finally snapped back to clarity, Kanan could now see that Rau was looking at him with a mix of irritation and fear. 

“Well,” the man said, biting of the ends of his words, “that wasn’t quite what I was worried about, but thank you for the assurance. What I’m worried about is the fact that I’ll be bringing a Jedi into a building that will have the Grand Inquisitor in it.”

Kanan froze. “The Grand Inquisitor? He’s here?”

Rau pressed his lips together until they went white before answering. “Yes,” he gritted out. “He was present at the meeting where the blueprints to Compound Viszla were requested. I have no doubt that he’ll be present at the summit as well.” His gaze darkened and slipped away. “A reminder of what will happen if we don’t toe the line that Saxon gives us.”

…Well shit. Things had just gotten a lot more desperate. 

Kanan had felt the fear that Ezra felt towards the Seventh Sister. Desperate and cloying, tugging at him with greedy grasping hands. The fear that he’d felt for the Fifth Brother had been a little different, more like the fear of a prey animal hearing a large predator moving through the woods. 

The fear that had just lanced through Ezra had been like more like the fear that pulsed through him, the first time he described how he’d been captured. The parade, the farm, and the tall pale figure of the Grand Inquisitor always present like a great black shadow…

Sitting up straight, he grabbed Rau’s wrist. “Rau, listen to me,” he said, not caring about the desperate edge to his voice. “That fear that I felt? The only thing comparable I’ve felt is when Ezra was telling me about how the Grand Inquisitor personally brought a planet to a standstill to capture him.”

“Wait, what?”

Kanan ignored Fokkay’s interjection, choosing instead to keep up eye contact with Rau. “When we found Ezra, he was being sent to the Grand Inquisitor as his new apprentice. The only reason that he’d feel that fear again would be if the Grand Inquisitor had found him again.” He couldn’t keep himself from digging his fingers into the man’s wrist. “The Grand Inquisitor probably can’t just pull your plans straight from your head, but Ezra can. And if the Grand Inquisitor gets to keep him, that exactly what he’ll make my padawan do. So for your safety, and for the safety of everyone that’s ever come into contact with Ezra, we need your help to get to an Imperial terminal and find out where they’re keeping him.” He had to be bruising the man by now, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. “Now, will you help us or no?”

The man’s face had gone through a journey as Kanan had talked, starting out as closed off and suspicious, before shifting into horrified as he talked about Ezra’s abilities and then finally settling into something determined, if still a little wary. 

“…You don’t need to threaten me,” Rau finally said quietly. “We know what the Grand Inquisitor is capable of. I would never leave a child in his care.”

“So that’s a yes, then?” Hera asked, sounding hopeful.

Rau squared his jaw, and then firmly nodded once.

* * *

Sabine ached as she was thrown back into her cell. That Agent, Kallus? He was well-named. They’d barely asked any questions, just ones that they had to know she didn’t know the answers to, cranking up the voltage and injecting her with more and more sensitizing drugs until even breathing hurt. Every time she’d passed out, she’d been revived with a stimulant and the pain had continued. 

As bad as that pain was, though, it was nothing compared to the guilt and helplessness that tore through her right now, alone in her cell with nothing to distract her.

They had known who Ezra was. The Empire had known, and the Inquisitors had found out, and now the Grand Inquisitor himself was going to take him and hurt him again -

Sabine was not the crying type. But right now, she didn’t feel guilty for letting a few hot tears trickle from the corners of her eyes. 

The last time she had felt so helpless had been during the Purge. Oh, the Empire now called it a cleansing, they had excused it as necessary thanks to the protests, but anyone with half of a brain knew that the peaceful marches had just been an excuse to wipe out everyone that was still trying to resist the Empire’s takeover.

Of course, fourteen-year-old Sabine had not been lucky enough to have half a brain. She’d completely eaten up everything the Empire was saying, ignoring what was going on right in front of her until -

The Artist’s Conclave.

It had been a little neighbourhood in Sundari. Near the edge of the domed city, it was well-known as a hold-out of Satine loyalists, ignoring the reality of an Imperial Mandalore and dreaming of the so-called good old days when the Duchess Satine had ruled, tossing out everyone who had dared to disagree with her in the name of a useless pacifism. The excuse had been that they were passing on Rebel messages and subversive materials, so they had been looking for transmission units, datapads, and other such things. Perfect work for cadets, not very dangerous and giving them valuable experience.

As one of the younger cadets, she’d been given the job of going into the homes and actually searching for the contraband materials after everyone inside had been dragged out. She’d been taught how to do so properly, of course, and so had been out of the first house fairly quickly, her arms filled with evidence to look over later.  
Just in time to see the first artist fall.

Sometimes, in the quiet of the night-cycle on the Ghost, she could still hear the yip-yip-yip of the blasters going off. On those nights, the sound always followed her into her dreams, where the splatters of blood that had decorated the white walls of the artists’ homes dripped down and lapped at her ankles in waves. The dreams where her guilt painted her armour with bright streaks of red, proclaiming her a proud member of the Empire.

She’d tried to stop it. She’d pointed out that they hadn’t even gone through the evidence yet, and that they didn’t know who was guilty and who was innocent.

Her instructor had looked at her with blue eyes colder than the snow that surrounded her clan’s home on Krownest. She couldn’t remember the man’s name, or even his clan, but she could remember the way his lips had curled back from his teeth in a sneer. She couldn’t remember the words he had said, but she could remember the heavy weight of a blaster and expectations in her hands. She couldn’t remember the face of the artist that she had turned to or even their gender, but she could remember how she had thought of her father in that moment, with the stench of blood and death redolent in the air and her hands shaking and her eyes burning and the fear winding around her throat and chest like an executioner’s rope -

She could remember the sharp little bark of blaster, and the streak of red the artist had left on the white wall as he slumped to the ground in an awkward pile of stick-like limbs. She could remember the little flecks of blood that had splashed on her cadet uniform, and how she had scrubbed at them for hours in a useless attempt to remove the colour. She could remember how they had walked through the entrance to the Academy and for the first time, she had looked up and seen the utter lack of colours on the wall.

Except for red. The walls had lacked every colour but the red of Imperial banners, and she had nearly thrown up right then and there. 

Sabine sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to roll over so that her arms were tucked underneath her. It was hard, harder than anything she’d ever done, to push herself up onto her knees. It left her with sweat dripping down her temples and into her eyes. But she managed it, even if it left her gasping for air. 

She swallowed dryly and squeezed her eyes shut, blinking away tears. That was enough crying for now, she told herself sternly as the liquid kept welling up. That was enough. Now was not the time for tears. It was the time for plans, and she’d wasted enough time already. Ezra needed to be rescued. She didn’t have time to think back to that time -

The door hissed open. 

Shab!

With a surge of strength that she didn’t realize she still had after the torture, Sabine pulled herself to her feet and turned to glare at whoever had just come into her cell. 

It wasn’t, thankfully, the agent, or any of the stormtroopers that had dropped by to watch her writhe as electricity was shot through her. Instead, it was a rather short figure; about the same size as Ezra, in fact, and wearing a cadet’s uniform.

There had been a cadet at the torture session as well. Sabine bared her teeth. “If you’re looking for a bit of fun, asshole, keep moving. You wouldn’t be the first -”

The cadet made a shushing motion and hit the door control panel in the room. The door shut with a final-sounding hiss, leaving the two of them alone in the dimly-lit room.

The cadet turned his head like he was listening for something. Apparently not hearing anything, he let out a staticky hiss through his helmet’s vocoder. His shoulders slumped, and he reached up and took off his helmet.

Sabine narrowed her eyes at the dark-skinned boy that was revealed, not letting down her guard. Her hands were numb and tingling, but she could still curl them into fists. 

The boy looked back at her, clearly saw her fists, and audibly swallowed. His fingers drummed nervously on the helmet that he was holding in front of him. “Uh, hi. Please don’t hit me, I think that we can be allies here.”

Sabine raised an eyebrow at him and spat a gob of blood on the floor between them. “I don’t work with the Empire. If you want some help with some sort of power play, you can do it yourself.”

“It’s not!” The boy said, his grip tightening on the helmet. “I’m not -” He grunted, sounding frustrated. “Look, just, let me say my piece, and if you don’t like it I’ll leave.”

Sabine snorted. “Yeah right.”

The boy looked at her, eyes narrowed in irritation. “My name is Zare Leonis. And you’re a rebel, right? One of the rebels that attacked the Inquistorius training facility?”

Sabine couldn’t keep a bark of sarcastic laughter from leaving her lips even as the name Leonis tickled something in her memory. Turning on her heel, she just managed to walk rather than stumble to the small bench that served as the cell’s bed. Sitting down, she leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, looking at the cadet carefully. “If you’re in here talking to me, I’m betting that you know that that story’s a load of bantha poodoo, so how about you stop with the sidestepping and just tell me why you’re here.”

The boy’s full lips had joined his eyes in narrowing. “Fine,” he muttered, tucking the helmet properly underneath his arm. He took a deep breath, sucked on his lower lip for a second, and then pinned her with an intense gaze as he spoke. 

“Have you ever heard of a girl named Dhara Leonis?”

The name clicked in her brain. A dark-skinned girl with one arm, a little older than Ezra…

Zare clearly saw the recognition in her expression and took a step closer, his eyes lighting up. “You do know her! Is she safe?”

Sabine pressed her lips together. “As safe as she can be,” she bit out. “Why does her Imperial brother care?”

Annoyance flickered over his face. “Not as Imperial as you think,” he said.

Sabine raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because from what I remember about the Empire, cadets don’t get to take part in interrogations unless they’re overachievers.”

Zare sighed. “Look,” he said patiently, “my sister joined the Imperial service a year before me and then disappeared. I joined to find out what the hell happened to her. Being an ‘overachiever’ means that people trust me; it means that they don’t pay as much attention as they might otherwise when I’m looking through Imperial files, understand? It doesn’t mean that I actually believe in the Empire.”

“Doesn’t mean that you don’t, either,” Sabine pointed out with a snort. She didn’t say it as sharply as she could, though. She could remember Dhara clearly now, and could see the resemblance between siblings. The other girl was one of the calmer kids, seeming to be processing what the Empire had done to her well and helping those that weren’t. But with what Sabine knew of Imperial procedures, she couldn’t just start believing that every roundhead with a sob story was her new best buddy. 

“Then let me prove it to you,” he offered, stepping closer to her again. She could see the he was almost trembling with eagerness now, his brown eyes wide and expressive. “I can get you and your friend out of Imperial custody. If I do that, will you take me to my sister?”

Part of Sabine wanted to jump on that offer. The rest of her was more cautious though. Most Imperials were far from creative, but the agent that had been questioning her - Agent Kallus, she’d remember that name - he’d had a real spark of hatred in his eyes as he looked at her. In her experience, hate could inspire even the most stubborn muses in the Empire. 

But - but she could remember the fear in Ezra’s eyes when he’d pushed her and the others through the blast doors on Dromund Kaas. She could remember the short, shrill yell he’d made as the Seventh Sister’s blade severed his leg. The dead look in his eyes as he talked about what the Inquisitors at the Academy had done to him for nothing more than their own sick amusement.

Did she really have that luxury? Sure, Kanan and Hera would most likely be working on something to get them out - but with the Inquisitorius already aware of Ezra’s presence, time was of the essence. 

The memory of Ezra’s shrill screams as she lay helpless on the ground echoed through her mind.

Sabine took a deep breath and met Zare’s eyes. “You say you have a way out of here? Lay it on me then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was my attempt to tie together Legends and Canon Mandalore lore, along with expanding a little on Sabine's backstory in this 'verse. I feel a little bad for not giving her full flashbacks like Ezra's in CotF, but at the same time she's not really in a situation where she can really navel-gaze like Ezra could, and she's not really telling anyone, so I felt like a flashback didn't really work. Let me know what you think about both topics, I love to talk!


	11. The Star in the Mountain

Rig hated this part of the story of Revan - the reveal. The confrontation with Darth Malak and the realization of the crimes of the Jedi Council.

Well, at least the illustrations were good, she supposed as she kept reading steadily. 

The med-bay was darkened, now, for the night-cycle, with her and Tharassa in a pool of light. Tharassa was curled up against her side, her dark head resting against Rig’s shoulder and red-on-red eyes intent on the book. Rig could feel her jaw moving as Rig read to her, soft whispers of heavily-accented Basic just reaching her ears. On their other side, the unconscious body of Aji lay quietly except for the beeping of the monitors. His pale chest, only half-covered by a med-gown, rose and fell steadily. 

“- they could feel the whispers more than hear them as dozens of puzzle pieces finally clicked into place. Before, they had floated at the edges of their consciousness, wove into the borders of their dreams, but now as they stood in that dark, red-lit room filled with echoes of their enemy’s laughter, they could feel their truth trembling through the Force. The Jedi had taken their memories from them, and left a stranger’s in their place.” 

She went to tap the button to turn the page, only for Tharassa’s hand to stop her. The girl was staring down at the illustration with wide eyes, her mouth moving and repeating the words that Rig had just said. The picture showed a silhouette of a genderless person to represent Revan, as was traditional. They were clutching their head, trails of white flowing from blank white spots that represented their eyes as shattered frames of their previous memories radiated from their head, the largest frame showing the collapsed body of the Sith Lord surrounded by the Jedi Council. It was a striking piece of art, for all the shame that it represented for the Jedi Order.

The door at the end of the med-bay whooshed open. Automatically looking up to see who the patient was, Rig tensed.

It wasn’t a patient. It was Tigu.

Rig let herself grit her teeth for a few blessed seconds before raising her hand in greeting. “Doctor Tigu,” she said, keeping her voice low. “What do I owe this pleasure to?”

The pink Twi’lek scratched at the scars that surrounded one of his wrists before signing an answer. :I wanted to talk. Without the others.:

Beside her, Tharassa’s mutters had quieted. She now had turned her head as well, the strands of her shoulder-length hair tickling the bare skin of Rig’s arm.

Rig pressed her lips together. “I rather thought that we had talked in the meeting.”

:No, we yelled,: Tigu said, coming closer. :Or, well, Aarrrwan yelled. I’m sorry for that, by the way. He just -: His hands hesitated for a moment before carefully shaping another word. :Cares.:

Rig couldn’t keep her lip from curling slightly. “I’m sure,” she said coolly. 

Tigu sighed silently. :Is it so hard to believe that others might care about these children?:

Pressing her fingers into the hard metal of the book pad, Rig released her emotions into the Force. “I don’t argue that the Resistance cares about the children. What I question are the motives behind that care.”

His fingers stilling, Tigu shot her a questioning look. :I beg your pardon?:

It was Rig’s turn to sigh now. Putting the book down flat on her lap, she looked him in the eye. “If there’s one thing that the Order has learned in its exile, it’s that nothing is free in the galaxy. The Jedi, despite everything, are a powerful military force. You personally might care about the children but your masters are only concerned with welding us more tightly with their military machine.”

:What?:

“You heard me,” she said coolly, even as hot prickles of anger began to spark up her spine.

:The Resistance isn’t like that -:

“The Resistance is made up of the same people that accused us of treason for removing the mastermind behind the war and then berated us for losing a battle that none of them could be bothered to fight.” Rig couldn’t keep the bite from her voice, even as Tharassa looked up at her from reaching for the pad with concern. “Forgive us for being wary when they start trying to insert themselves into our affairs again.”

Tigu was still for a long, long moment. Rig looked away and let out a small, angry huff. “The only reason the Resistance is pushing us on this subject is because it’s the easiest way to worm themselves into a position of power over us again.” There was a fine tremor in her hands that she couldn’t seem to stop. “We’ve already let ourselves been chewed up and spat out once for the Republic. We threw away our morals and qualms and told ourselves that it was for the safety and security of the galaxy, gave our lives and the lives of our men for countless planets, and our reward was our children being slaughtered and our home destroyed and being told that we deserved it by the very people we were trying to protect.” Her eyes were burning. “So maybe you do, indeed, sincerely care for the children, but considering the history of your Resistance, I highly doubt that your leaders feel the same way. We’re assets to them, nothing more, and the children are just a convenient way to gain access to us.”

Tharassa had gone still against her arm, her little whispers silenced. Rig shifted, moving her arm so that she could wrap it around the girl comfortingly, running her fingers through her dark hair. “Now if you don’t mind, I was reading to young Tharassa here.”

Tigu didn’t take the hint, lunging instead towards the topic change like a drowning man. :She cannot read Basic?:

Rig turned the page and pointedly didn’t look at him. “Her species is not in any Republic database. It’s hardly surprising.”

The next page was a stark set of black hands outlined in white, clawing at Revan’s face, the eyes roughly sketched to suggest the breakdown that the Sith lord was going through. “Who were they now? Who was the person that had been forced into their head -”

Tigu was gesturing again. Swallowing a sigh, Rig turned her head back to him and raised an eyebrow. “Yes? What is it?”

:Do you mind if I stay? After you’re done - I know more than a little about how to work with people with communication problems.:

Rig clenched her teeth. She wanted the Twi’lek to leave. Looking down at Tharassa, though - her little blue face was lined with worry. Her red-on-red eyes bounced between the two of them, clearly worried that this sudden difficulty was because of her.

“…Fine,” Rig bit out. She personally didn’t want to, but she was reading to Tharassa to try and help with her Basic in the first place. She could not in good conscience turn down more help. Especially after the man’s surprise at his superior’s motives. “After we’re done with this section, we can work with your techniques.”

:Thank you,: Tigu signed, far more graciously than her. Then he settled back in his seat to wait.

* * *

Rahm was upright and sober when Galen returned, though a bottle was nearby. He had a feeling that he was going to want it after this visit.

He could recognize the boy’s padding footsteps as he came in, now. Lighter than any of the adult Jedi’s, and curiously hesitant considering their previous conversations.

Well, maybe not so curiously. 

“Hey kid,” Rahm said quietly once the footsteps reached him. “Thought you might come back. Everything okay?”

Galen was silent for several long seconds. “You were upset earlier. I’m sorry.”

Rahm grimaced. “Wasn’t your fault, boy. Just some old memories coming up. Old regrets.” Reaching beside him, he patted his mattress. “I want to talk to you, though. Mind sitting down?”

There was another long pause. Then soft, hesitant footsteps. The mattress dipped, and then Rahm could feel the warmth of another body beside him. He waited until the boy had finished before speaking again.

“Through death, all things rejoin the Force. You said your father told you that saying.”

“Yes,” Galen replied quietly, sounding nervous.

Rahm wanted to grab his bottle and take a good long swig before continuing this, but didn’t. He needed to be sober for this. “He ever tell you where that saying came from?”

“…No.” The kid shifted beside him again. “Is it bad?”

Rahm’s lips twitched into a small, brief smile at how much the boy sounded like an uncertain initiate. “No, not at all,” he said gently. “I was surprised that you knew it. It’s a specifically Jedi saying.”

“Oh.” The boy paused, and then Rahm could practically see the boy’s eyes popping open in surprise. “Oh!”

“Yeah.” Rahm wound his fingers together in front of him. “Your dad, did he talk about the Force a lot?”

Galen squirmed beside him. “Um, sort of? I think? We - we lived on Kashyyyk. In the forest, not really with the Wookies, but sometimes they visited with supplies.” He paused, hesitating, before he continued on in a rush. “It was just us most of the time - he’d teach me about the plants and the animals and how to reach them, and how to meditate. He didn’t really like it when I moved things, though, said that it was too noticeable.”

Kashyyyk. He and Kento had gone to Kashyyyk once. He’d gotten along famously with the Wookies there. One had tried to give him a bowcaster when they were leaving. Rahm had made him leave it behind though, since all a Jedi needed was their lightsaber.

He regretted that, looking back. How could a heartfelt gift have hurt?

He regretted a lot of things.

Pulling away from those dark thoughts, Rahm made himself focus on the boy’s actual answers. His father had taught him meditation, then, and from the sounds of it was familiar with some of the Jedi arts. His heart fluttered in his chest. 

Was it possible that his father had been a survivor of Order 66? Not everyone had managed to get back to the Temple before its fall - and afterwards, some had slipped away from the fleet. The boy beside him had felt and sounded young, younger than some of the other children he’d passed by briefly.

The Inquisitorius didn’t just take children. Rahm had been one of the Temple Guards during the Fall of the Temple, holding the line so that the younglings could escape. He could remember the roar of the shuttle engines, and the low hum of the advancing droids, their blaster bolts slamming into him until everything went black.

He’d woken up in small cell, lit only with a dim red light in the ceiling and a black screen on one of the walls. He’d found out what the screen was for soon enough - seeing the destruction of the Temple and the cheering crowds on a loop…well, he understood why most of his compatriots in the captured Guards had fallen. It hurt your heart to see everything you loved destroyed to wild acclaim. 

Again, Rahm forced his mind away from the memories. The Inquisitorius did take adult Force-sensitives into their ranks, and if Galen’s father was a Jedi - maybe, just maybe it could lead to another rescue. Hope hummed in his head.

“Your father,” he said quietly. “Do you know where he is now?”

The way the boy froze beside him had that hope falling silent. 

For a long minute, there was only the sound of Galen’s breathing, slowly getting shakier and shakier. Then a quiet whimper, a sniffle, and Rahm found himself awkwardly wrapping his arms around the boy and muttering soothing nothings as the boy silently wept into his chest. The hurt and fear that he’d felt the first time was rising back up like floodwaters, until Rahm was gritting his teeth and struggling to shield himself so that he didn’t drown.

“It - it was raining,” Galen gasped out against his shirt, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, “it was raining, and the red blades came, and he told me to run and I ran, I’d run that way so many times but this time I slipped -” He burrowed his face into Rahm’s chest and shook, dampening his front with tears and snot. 

Rahm rubbed the boy’s back, internally cursing at himself. ‘A chance to save more’, what had he been thinking!? He’d heard the stories, he knew first-hand how the Inquisitorius worked - he’d let his hope get the better of him, and he’d hurt the boy instead. 

The boy’s fingers were digging into his sides. “They dragged me back, they dragged me back and he’d tried to fight -” He choked and swallowed wetly. “They’d cut his arms off and one of them had a knife, and they didn’t let me look away.” New warmth gushed down his front. “He kept telling me that it would be alright, that the Force would be with me, and they wouldn’t let me look away -”

He was done. The boy was done, all of his words dissolving into sobbing as Rahm held him uselessly, unable to even say that it was okay. 

How could this be okay? How could it ever be okay?

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, with the boy in his arms sobbing his heart out and him just trying not to make things worse. He’d heard the clink of his bottle falling over and hadn’t even cared.

“Shh, shh,” he said quietly, inadequately, “shh, shh, c’mon, focus on something else. This isn’t the end. Your father would be proud of you, you survived, shh, shh…”

Slowly and painfully, the boy’s wails began to quiet into sniffles. His trembling lessened, but Rahm didn’t let go. He couldn’t let go.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he murmured, barely paying attention to the actual words spilling from his mouth, “c’mon, lets focus on happier things. You said you lived with your father on Kashyyyk? What was his name?”

Galen hiccuped into his chest, shifting to scrub at his eyes. 

“K-Kento Marek.”

* * *

Kanan’s presence in the back of Ezra’s head was the only thing keeping him from collapsing in terror as he was marched out onto the landing platform. 

In and out, Ezra focused on his breathing as the roundheads forced him up the ramp and into the shuttle. In and out, just like Kanan had taught him. In and out, as the roundheads forced him into one of the shuttle seats.

The Grand Inquisitor was already sitting across from him, his legs crossed and gold eyes watching him intently. As he was forced down, Ezra could feel the Pau’an’s amusement wrapping around him like the coils of some enormous snake.

He didn’t have to choke on the emotions for long, though. The coils thankfully loosened as the last member of the entourage came aboard, the deluded ISB agent that had talked to Ezra in his cell.

The Grand Inquisitor probably wouldn’t pull any shit with him there.

Leaning back in his seat, Ezra went back to his breathing. In and out, feel the Force. Just let it exist around you, and let yourself be a part of its ebb and flow.

Forcing the knots in his muscles to relax, Ezra pried open his shields to let in a trickle of the Force. Like cracking the door of a bunker, Light began to slowly shine through, bringing in feelings and impressions of his surroundings. Of course, there was the dark spidery knot of the Grand Inquisitor by him, keeping him from fully relaxing, but he was no solar eclipse of Darkness. He could still feel the strong rope that was his bond with Kanan, warm like the light of a sunset after a hot summer’s day. There was the flow of the city beneath them as the shuttle took off, a million different people making a sea of light below. The Light surrounded him, wrapped around him and sank into his skin and pushed the fear a little further away, so that it wasn’t crawling under his skin with a million little knife-like legs. The shadow of the Grand Inquisitor that seemed so large shrank a little, and the ropes binding his chest began to loosen. He wasn’t alone. He was never alone. The Light was still here, keeping the Dark away. The fear was still there, still buzzing, but it was around his head rather than in his skull. Kanan was there, a warm presence at his back, and distantly through him he could feel hints of Hera and Zeb…

Then something in the Force - tugged him. It was like someone gently taking his jaw and moving his head so that he would pay attention to something in particular.

In his minds eye, he turned from watching the glowing ocean that was the city towards a dark mountain. Not dark in the way of the Dark Side, but dark like a patch of the night sky that was empty of stars. It jutted above and below the ocean, and seemed to grow bigger and bigger in his vision until he realized that he was now inside it, being dragged down. But there was no fear, Ezra realized distantly. No fear as he was dragged along, down down down, until below he saw a soft light surrounded by motes of starlight, like a lamp lighting up dust in the air, soft and welcoming and reaching back…

_Little Jedi. Who are you?_

The shuttle jolted, knocking Ezra out of his meditation. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

What the hell had that been?

Kanan had never, in all his lectures about meditation, mentioned something like that. He talked about feeling the Force, letting yourself sink into it, but it reaching back? Asking who you were? That had never come up.

He didn’t have time to think much more about that, though, because the two roundheads on either side of him grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. The shuttle ramp was lowering.

Outside, the wind whipped against his face, bitingly cold. Squinting his eyes, Ezra saw that they had landed on what looked like a temporary landing pad. They were high above the city, now, surrounded by rock - they must have landed within the mountains surrounding the city. But why -

Then Ezra turned his head and saw.

A massive set of windows, several stories tall, framed in gold and jutting out from the mountain. Underneath, a large set of doors, decorated with the angular shapes that seemed to be everywhere here and rolling up to reveal what looked like a private hangar.

Definitely a private hangar, Ezra thought as he was dragged through the doors. The place wasn’t quite teeming with people, but there were more than enough Imperial technicians for Ezra to realize that something big was going on here.

Something that was making a lot of people nervous. Ezra didn’t feel other people quite as keenly, now, with all of the work Kanan had put into teaching him about shielding, but even with them up he could feel a low, steady beat of anxiety curdling in his gut.

They passed through the hangar without incident, but as they went deeper into the lushly-carpeted building the anxiety only got worse. It began to rise higher and higher, like a room slowly filling with water. People passed them by, some even looking at him briefly in confusion, but a dark look from the Grand Inquisitor was quick to keep them moving on. 

All this anxiety - why? Ezra looked around as they turned down another carpeted corridor, the walls lined with murals of armoured people fighting each other, and didn’t see anything particularly scary. The Grand Inquisitor was scary, of course, but from how all-encompassing the anxiety was it couldn’t have been from his arrival. 

It didn’t help that the deeper they went into the building, the weirder the Force began to feel. It was subtle, and hard to pin down; if he had had to express out loud, Ezra wasn’t sure that he could have. Circling, maybe, was the word. Churning? Either way, it felt almost like it was moving past him, caressing him like the current of a river, but curving around to caress him again…

A door whooshed open. He was dragged into a small room that looked like it had been gutted, a plain metal chair that clearly had been brought into the place from outside bolted down in the middle, cuffs and straps decorating its arms and legs. The roundheads shoved him into it and and began tightening the straps around him before he could react.

The ISB agent was hovering in the doorway as the last straps were being tightened. His face was pinched. “Grand Inquisitor, I must ask -”

“Must you?” the Grand Inquisitor replied, having picked up a datapad on a table shoved against one of the walls. He was scrolling through some information on it, not looking at the agent. The roundheads, done with their job, got up and shouldered past the agent, leaving the room altogether.

“I must ask,” the agent repeated, sounding stiff, “are such things - necessary?” He gestured towards the straps.

Ezra appreciated the concern, but rather bitterly noted to himself that it would have been a lot more helpful a few hours ago.

The Grand Inquisitor looked up from his datapad with a blank expression that still managed to seem menacing somehow. “Agent Kallus, are you a Force-sensitive?”

“I - no, Grand Inquisitor -”

“Are you experienced in working with Force sensitives?”

“No, Grand Inquisitor -”

“How interesting. I am.” The Pau’an raised one lined brow. “Do you normally question others on topics that they have far more experience in?”

The agent’s lips had thinned, and he had paled slightly. “No, Inquisitor.”

The Grand Inquisitor put the pad back down on the table then and tucked his arms behind his back. With a few long steps, he was standing in front of the agent. Ezra couldn’t see his face anymore, but from the way the agent further paled and stepped back, he could imagine the expression on the Inquisitor’s face. “Then why are you questioning me?”

The agent swallowed, but before he could answer the Inquisitor had pressed the button to shut the door. The soft thud of it closing had Ezra’s stomach dropping down to the ground.

The Grand Inquisitor let out a theatrical sigh. “Such an irritating man,” he said in the sudden silence of the room. Turning, he faced Ezra.

The satisfied way he eyed Ezra up and down made his stomach flop like it was falling down a set of stairs.

Ezra swallowed. He wasn’t alone, he told himself. Kanan and Hera and Zeb were already working on finding him and Sabine. Kanan had taught him how to shield. He wasn’t the helpless street rat that he’d been the first time the Grand Inquisitor had found him.

That didn’t help much when the alien was looming over him like he was now, taking his jaw in one large white hand and forcing him to look the Pau’an in his gold and black eyes.

His thumb tapped Ezra’s cheekbone thoughtfully. “At least I’ve gotten something out of this entire situation.”

Ezra tried to pull his face away but the Inquisitor’s grip only tightened. “Let go.”

The Inquisitor chuckled. “I think not. Not after Dromund Kaas.”

Ezra pulled at his straps. One of them was a bit loose.

“Our master was so very disappointed after that loss, you know,” the Inquisitor continued conversationally. “So many students, lost to the Light.”

“Is that why you’re here, then?” Ezra asked, continuing to try and pull away. “Did you get demoted for kriffing up like that?”

The Inquisitor snorted. “Hardly. I could not be blamed for the incompetence of my underlings. At least, not with the losses we’d taken. My punishment was light and over quickly, comparatively.” His thumb stroked along Ezra’s scar, digging in and tracing it with something that came frighteningly close to a caress. “What I’m actually supervising here is an archaeological dig.”

“Really,” Ezra gritted out. The Inquisitor’s grip was starting to hurt a bit. “I thought archaeology was digging up old bones, not going through someone’s house.”

The Inquisitor raised a brow. “You’d be surprised how far the histories of the Mandalorian Great Houses go back.” Finally letting go of Ezra’s face, he slowly stepped around the chair until Ezra couldn’t see him and set both hands on its back, on either side of his head. “You felt it, didn’t you. On the way in.”

“Felt what?” asked Ezra with far more courage than he actually felt. “What are you talking about?”

Above him, the Inquisitor sighed, sounding like a disappointed schoolteacher. One of the bony white hands gripped his jaw again, forcing him to tilt his head back painfully. “Enough of that,” he said. “Playing the fool does not suit you and does not fool me.” His fingers were digging into Ezra’s jaw again, this time to hurt. “You felt the nexus underneath the Compound.”

A nexus? Was he talking about that star -

The Grand Inquisitor sighed. “I suppose that it isn’t really a surprise that you don’t know. The Jedi do love to hide information.” He growled the last sentence, the hand on his face squeezing until Ezra thought his teeth were going to pop out. The Inquisitor was now leaning over him, blocking out the overhead light. 

“Have you ever heard of House Viszla?” 

His voice had lightened from its growl, into something almost casual. The grip on his jaw, however, remained tight enough to leave bruises. 

“One of the Great Houses of Mandalore. Very distinguished. Compared to the other great houses, though, it’s rather young to have such an esteemed reputation. Do you know why?”

“Well,” Ezra grunted, “considering that I haven’t seen the inside of a classroom since I was seven, I’m gonna have to go with no.” If this strap could just loosen a little more…

The Inquisitor leaned over further and yanked the strap he was fiddling with so tight that it hurt. “Why, because of its great founder: the Last Mand’alor, Tarre Viszla. The one man that managed to be both a Mandalorian warrior and a Jedi Knight at the same time.”

Ezra breathed harshly through his nose and tried to ignore how his hand was already throbbing. 

“You see, before the Thousand Years of Darkness, and frankly for most of it, Clan Viszla was a laughably inconsequential little family that most of Mandalorian Houses didn’t even bother to court for support. Barely even were worthy of the word ‘clan’, from what I understand.” The Inquisitor loosened his grip a fraction, just enough to run his thumb along Ezra’s scar again. “Then they were attacked during one of the Mandalorian’s many inter-House wars, leaving little Force-sensitive Tarre the only survivor. And from such humble beginnings, the man managed to be trained by the Jedi, climb to the top of Mandalorian politics, and be proclaimed supreme ruler and paragon of the Mandalorian people.” He gently shook Ezra’s head for emphasis. “I imagine even someone who ah, ‘hasn’t seen the inside of a classroom’ since he was seven can figure out how important such a figure is to the Mandalorians.”

“So you’re - what, helping the Mandalorians collect their own history?” Ezra asked sarcastically.

The Grand Inquisitor snorted. “Hardly,” he said dryly. “No, as it turns out, our current puppet has the charisma of a wet sack of grain, so he needs to drape himself in the trappings of an ancient distant ancestor to legitimize himself.”

Ezra couldn’t keep himself from raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t this guy your ally?”

“Simply being allied with the Empire does not make one worthy of respect,” the Inquisitor said dismissively.

“What does all of this have to do with that nexus thingy you were talking about, anyway?”

“It’s why I have to waste my time here babysitting a bunch of meat-headed soldiers,” the Inquisitor replied. “Obviously, your master hasn’t spoken to you about what happens in areas where the Force gathers.”

For a moment, Ezra froze. How did the Inquisitor know he had a -

Then he remembered what the Inquisitorius had done to him. Of course they knew he had a master; he wouldn’t be functional without one. 

The Grand Inquisitor sighed again, letting Ezra’s face go. Ezra tried to wiggle his jaw in relief as subtly as possible. “Force Nexuses have a bad habit of becoming semi-sentient when left alone for long periods of time, as this one has. And when they get to that point they also have the bad habit of ‘testing’ anyone that comes near them. Often fatally. Therefore, my presence is required to keep things under control for long enough that we can retrieve some of these trappings from the older parts of the Viszla Compound.”  
He stepped back around in front of Ezra, tucking his hands behind his back. “I will admit, though, that such things are rather tiring for just one individual to do. That’s why I insisted that you be brought here immediately, rather than be taken to my ship.”

His jaw ached, but Ezra set it defiantly anyways. “I’m not helping you loot this place.”

The Grand Inquisitor only seemed amused by his defiance. “My dear boy, your willingness is a moot point.” Pulling one hand out from behind his back, he reached it towards Ezra’s face, almost but not quite touching. “Once I’m done ripping out that bond you have with your current master and replacing it, you will be quite incapable of refusing my commands.”

For a moment, the words didn’t make sense. And then -

Pain. Pure pain slammed into him, claws tipped with drills that dug into his brain, reaching the part where his bond with Kanan began and pulling pulling pulling -

\- he was falling, falling back into that star-empty dark, falling back into the soft light in the bottom of the shadow, surrounded by motes of dust -

\- except it wasn’t dust, and it wasn’t a soft light anymore, now it was warm and welcoming and wrapping around him -

 _Ah. I see. They try it even here, even now, then._

It hurt - it hurt - it hurt -

_I know, padawan. I know it hurts. It won’t for long, though._

\- no no no the shadow shouldn’t be touching there, he wanted the dark to go away go away please -

_Reach out, little one. You are not alone._

The soft light burned. What had once reminded him of a lamp was now a cluster of stars, no, a galaxy, surrounding him with a burning light and chasing the shadows away. The Grand Inquisitor and his inky darkness shrieked, its power burned away and revealing the small, pathetic shadow at its core -

_“You are certain, then, that they are based at Yavin Four?” The Grand Inquisitor sounded skeptical._

_The blue figure standing across from him at the holotable did not react to his tone, only stroking his chin. “I do not question your expertise, Grand Inquisitor,” the blue man said in a deep drawl, blinking red-on-red eyes slowly. “Kindly do not question mine, and I believe that we will get along much better. The rebels are on Yavin Four, and we will be ready for attack as soon as the festival is done.”_

Ezra sucked in a deep breath and jerked forward against his restraints, his face wet and throat raw. Distantly, he could hear the fading echoes of his screams.

The Grand Inquisitor was lying flat on his back in front of him, breathing hard like he had just run a race. As Ezra watched, blinking away tears that slowly slid down his face, he rolled over onto his front and got up from the ground with shaking limbs. 

The room was a mess, Ezra noted. The tables had been flipped over and several of the machine screens that surrounded them were cracked.

Pulling himself up to his full height, the Grand Inquisitor stalked over to Ezra with a thunderous expression. Ezra flinched back, but there was nowhere to run.

The back-handed blow made him taste blood and had his ears ringing so loudly that he almost couldn’t hear the threat that followed.

“The Light is no match for the Dark, child,” the Inquisitor hissed. “It cannot protect you forever!”

Then he whirled on his heel and stalked away, out of the room, leaving Ezra only with the debris of destruction and the taste of blood in his mouth.


	12. Silence

Luminara was slumping. She hadn’t slumped since she was in the creche, but right now she thought that it was warranted.

There were only three thousand Jedi in the galaxy currently. Three thousand, and it seemed like every single one had come down from the fleet to meet the children.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. How was she supposed to sort through this mess? The other members of the Council were helping, but they were also trying to play down the news of Master Windu’s collapse. She’d already managed to dismiss a large chunk of the list on the datapad in front of her, but with how long the list of suspects was that didn’t actually shorten the list to a manageable level. And to top it all off, they still hadn’t found Master Windu’s datapad. 

This was just a mess. A giant, unmanageable mess.

There was a knock at the door. 

“Come in,” Luminara called, not looking up from her datapad. Behind her, the door whooshed open. It was most likely Gree again, bringing her something to eat or drink.

“Master Unduli?”

Or maybe it wasn’t Gree.

Looking over her shoulder, Luminara tried to be subtle as she switched the datapad off. “Jai. Is there something I can help you with?”

From the way Jai swayed in place in the doorway, looking at her desk and biting his lower lip, she suspected that she hadn’t been subtle enough. “Um, if you’re busy, I can come back later?” He was holding his own datapad and drumming his fingers along its back.

Luminara forced herself to smile. “It’s alright, Jai. I wasn’t really getting anywhere, anyways. It will do me good to have a break.” The datapad’s screen went black, and Luminara turned around her seat more fully. “Come - you would not have visited for no reason. What is troubling you?”

The boy looked down at his feet. “That’s not true. I like talking to you.” But he stepped into the room, the door closing behind him. He was holding onto the datapad like it was some comfort object, hugging it to his chest.

Despite herself, she felt her chest warming at the flattery. “And I like talking to you,” she said. She gestured to the bunk. “Take a seat. How can I help you?”

Jai did as she gestured, but didn’t answer right away. He continued to hug the datapad tight, staring down at the floor. 

“…Jai?” Luminara prompted after a minute.

“How - how do Jedi deal with fear?” he asked, not looking up. “Like, not just being afraid for minute; the sort of fear that sticks to you, how do Jedi deal with that?” He peeked up at her from underneath his mop of hair, something real and raw begging for help in his eyes.

It reminded her of Barriss. Before the bombing, when she was begging for help in her silent way. When Luminara had failed her.

She pressed her lips together and swallowed back the platitudes that had leapt to her tongue. This was - something important. She wasn’t sure if it was the Force or her gut telling her that, but she knew that whatever it was, it was right.

Leaning forward in her chair, she tried to catch Jai’s eye. “I’m not quite sure what it is you’re talking about,” she began slowly. “There are a lot of fears that can be described that way. Could you tell me perhaps what it is you’re afraid of?”

Jai’s mouth opened and closed for a moment before he managed to get any words out. “I - do you remember the tower? Where you found me?” He pulled the datapad away from his chest and looked down at its black, powered-off screen. “Where you found the other boy too?”

As if she could ever forget that horrible place. All of those children - 

Luminara cut off that thought before it had a chance to sprout. Now was not the time. “Yes, I do. Are you having problems with the memories? Knight Nema -”

But Jai was shaking his head. “I - yes, the memories are a part of it, but that’s not all. It’s also the other boy…” He trailed off, going back to staring at the ground. As Luminara watched, he began to rock back and forth slightly. 

“The other boy?” she prompted gently after a moment of silence.

Jai pressed his lips together until they were a thin white line and stilled. “He scares me.” Each word sounded like a boulder falling to the ground. “He just - I see him, and I go back there like I never left and I get scared and it makes me mean.” He was gripping the datapad tightly, his fingertips turning white. “The other kids have noticed. They don’t like it.”

“…Mean how?” Luminara asked carefully.

Jai rocked in his seat slightly. “I - I don’t like, attack him or anything,” he said quietly. “I just - make it clear he’s not welcome. With us, I mean.”

“And how do you do that?”

He shrugged, staring down at the floor. “I tell him, mostly,” he said, his voice very quiet. “I just - tell him.”

Luminara folded her hands in her lap, tapping a finger slowly. “I can’t say that the other children are wrong for being unhappy with such things,” she said slowly, trying to think. “Isolating someone can be exceptionally cruel.”

Jai’s shoulders hunched up around his ears. 

“However,” Luminara continued, keeping her voice gentle, “I cannot say that your fear is - wrong. Galen was an instrument that the Inquisitorius used to terrorize you for a long time, if I understand correctly.” Her throat tightened as she spoke, trying to keep the words down. What she was saying - it was not what a Jedi should be saying. A Jedi should be warning Jai about the Dark Side, not telling him that feeling such things was alright.

A Jedi shouldn’t - but with Barriss, she had done what a Jedi should. When Barriss had told her of her nightmares, Luminara had told her that dreams passed in time. When Barriss had told her of how she did not want to take part in bombing runs, Luminara had chided her for trying to deprive the war effort of her talents. As if killing was her only talent.

In the end, Barriss had listened to her lessons in Jedi conduct. She had taken part in the bombing runs. She had stopped talking about her nightmares, even though Luminara knew from the sounds of her crying at night that she was still having them. She had stopped talking entirely, and instead spoke with the only language that anyone around her seemed to understand anymore.

Too many had died, because Luminara had regurgitated pale platitudes instead of listening.

She would not make that mistake again. She would help Jai face his fears and purge them, not just repress them until the festered. 

“Outside of warning him away from socializing with the other children, have you talked with him at all?” Luminara asked. Perhaps if she helped Jai make the emotional connection between his suffering and Galen’s suffering…

Jai shook his head, his shoulders still hunched. “I told you, he scares me. It’s only when I”m warning him - I’m angry then, and that pushes the fear away. But it always comes back.” Reaching up, he scrubbed a rough hand through his hair. “I just -”

He trailed off, and Luminara waited patiently. 

His head ducked a little lower, and he swallowed wetly before raising it again. Putting the datapad in his lap aside, he turned towards her and almost lunged for her hands, gripping them tightly with his own. His eyes were wet and gleamed in the dim lights of the room.

“How -” he began, his voice cracking. He stopped and cleared his throat before speaking again. “When you saw him, back there. In that tower. I remember that you were willing to fight him. He’d been with the Eighth Brother for ages. And I’ve talked with some of the other Jedi - when you go the Dark Side, you’re supposed to never be able to come back.” His chin wobbled. “How did you - how did you know to save him? That he could be saved?”

Luminara didn’t answer right away. She couldn’t. 

Thinking back to that day. That tower. That fight. The way the rain had been pounding down on the covered bridge they were on. The glow of the red lightsabers. The red of the Eighth Brother’s eye. 

The red of the boy’s blood, bright against the webbed cracks where his head had been slammed against it. The red that had lined his eyes, from his tears of fear as the Eighth Brother threatened him.

“I knew,” she said slowly, “because of how the Eighth Brother was treating him. You were injured at the time, but the Eighth Brother -” She frowned, trying to organize her thoughts. “He had frozen up, and was clearly trapped in his own memories. And the Eighth Brother started slamming his head against the glass of the tunnel so hard that it started to crack.” She squeezed his hands, carefully choosing her words. Because Jai was right; Jedi doctrine said that the Dark Side was inescapable, and that anyone using it had only joined it for power.

“The Jedi normally teach that anyone who has joined the Dark Side - that they use it because they want power. But the boy that I saw that day was not that. The boy I saw there, being abused by the Eighth Brother, was as much a victim as he was an enemy.” She looked at Jai carefully. “I looked at him, and saw someone who was being victimized like you and all the other children had been. And so when I had a chance, when the man who had been pushing him to attack me was dead - I took a leap of faith, and gave him the chance to stop.”

Jai looked down at the ground, chewing on his lip.

“I gave him the chance, and he stopped. He stopped, and gave me his weapon, and came along quietly.” Letting go of his hands, Luminara stood and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I know that you are afraid,” she said quietly. “I know that it is hard to deal with such emotions. That it is easier to push away what frightens you, then it is to face it. The only advice I can give you on this topic is that perhaps you need to take your own leap of faith and try to talk to him about your fears. About what happened in the tower.” Hesitantly, she squeezed his shoulder. “Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

Jai ducked his head again. “I think so,” he said quietly, getting up but not shrugging off her hand. “I mean - I’m not sure if I can but -”

He looked up and her and stopped, pressing his lips together. “I’ll try,” he said after a moment. “I can’t promise anything else.”

“No one will ask more than that,” Luminara replied. She gave his shoulder another squeeze.

* * *

Imperials never changed.

Forcing herself to her knees, Sabine forced herself to keep her breathing deep and even. Her throat was raw from screaming, and she was desperate for a shower, but she had made through another session of ‘Imperial hospitality’. 

And, she thought as she looked around the room, if Zare was on the level, she wouldn’t have to go through another. Now, where had he said he’d put it?

She looked around the cell, forcing her eyes to focus and blinking away tears. There - underneath the bench bolted to the wall, a long panel that was slightly crooked. 

It was a good thing that he’d put it close to the ground, Sabine mused as she crawled towards the panel. Her legs were shaky enough that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get it out of someplace that would require her to jump. 

Pulling the panel away, she smiled. Yeah, Zare had definitely been on the level. Pulling out the officer’s uniform, she began to snap it on, just as she’d been taught at the academy. 

As she was pulling the hat out of the hiding spot, though, something fluttered to the ground. Reaching out, she picked it up. It was a piece of flimsi, folded up. Unfolding it, she saw that there was a message on it and began to read.

_Sabine,_

_Good news and bad news. Bad news: the Grand Inquisitor’s already moved your friend out of here._

Sabine’s breath stuttered.

_Good news, I know where he is and it’s still on planet. If you’ve ever been here before, you probably know about the House Viszla compound. The Imperials have been doing something there for a while now - some sort of archaeology dig or something for Viceroy Saxon. Anyways, a few weeks back something happened there and the Grand Inquisitor and some of his people were called in to supervise. They’ve been set up there ever since._

_That’s going to make escape more difficult though. I’ve been called for duty at the summit as well, so I won’t be able to get a shuttle to you like we planned._

_We’re going to have to play this by ear._

_I’ve left a comm unit in with the uniform. It’s set to a private channel. Contact me when you’re ready, and we can figure it out from there._

_Good luck._

Sabine swallowed hard. This was - not good. All plans only lasted until you met the enemy, but the hard part hadn’t even started yet and things were going wrong. Tucking the note into a hidden pocket in her pants, she forced herself to steady her breaths. She had to focus on the here and now. Adapt. Improvise. Overcome. Ezra was depending on her. 

Okay. She still had an imperial uniform. She had a comm unit - she checked the hidden compartment and yes, it was there - and she knew where Ezra was. That wasn’t nothing. 

She started putting the uniform on again. She could do this. But she had to focus on one thing at a time. And right now, that was getting out of this cell.

Once her uniform was fully on, she stood up. Zare had even managed to get her a small blaster pistol, which she holstered underneath her arm. Tugging on the gloves to make sure that they were fully on, she took a deep breath and hit the button to let her out of the cell.

Despite their problems, Zare had managed to come through with making sure her cell was unguarded on top of getting her a disguise. Slipping out, she glanced around and listened carefully before beginning to move down the corridor. Shoulders lowered and back, hands behind her, back so straight it was like someone had shoved a pole up her butt, she settled into the standard Imperial posture and tried to look like she had somewhere to be.

She seemed to succeed. She only passed one set of stormtroopers on the way, but they payed no attention to her. That didn’t stop her heart from beating so hard in her chest that she feared someone would hear it.

No one did though. Not in the hallways. Not in the lift. And then she was in the base’s hangar, which was so loud that it didn’t matter. 

Her hand was sweating in her gloves as she handed over the permission chip to the hangar flight controllers. “I need a shuttle to go to Compound Vizsla.”

The controller didn’t even look at her as he took the chip and attached it to a port. “Most shuttles are tied up with summit security. You’ll have to share.”

…Well someone was obviously having a long day. “Understood. When does it leave?”

“It’s scheduled for takeoff in ten minutes.” The controller removed the chip and handed it back to her. “Shuttle 11-X is your ride. If it leaves without you, that’s your own fault.” He still wasn’t looking at her, focusing on the screen in front of him filled with flightplans. “Now if you don’t mind, I got six other flights to coordinate for liftoff in that time, so if you could take care of yourself that would be great.”

Sabine nodded, not daring to say anything that might make the man take a closer look. 

Striding across the flight deck, she kept her head upright and steps purposeful. The shuttle was close by - another bit of luck. Maybe having things go wrong like that earlier had given her some extra luck now. She certainly wasn’t complaining. 

The inside of the shuttle was as bare-bones as every other Imperial shuttle that Sabine had been in. Sitting down in one of the crash seats, she tucked herself into the corner and tried not to take up any space.

Despite how easily things had gone there, her heart was still hammering in her chest. Sitting here, she could feel the memories of her last time in an Imperial shuttle bubbling underneath her thoughts. 

The sharp sound of boots on the loading ramp jerked her out of her thoughts before they could swamp her, though. Turning her head, Sabine’s breath froze in her lungs. Right, she thought faintly as she saw her fellow passengers, so much for luck.

Four supercommandos marched into the shuttle, the bright red paint on their white armour standing out even in the darkness. Their rifles tucked into the crooks of their arms, one of the ones in the front paused as they entered, cocking their helmeted head to one side. 

“Who are you?” 

Sabine swallowed a few times before she managed to croak out an answer. “I was reassigned to assist with the Viszla Compound project.”

Despite keeping their helmet on, Sabine could feel the supercommando’s mistrust radiating from their frame. “We weren’t informed of any reassignments. Where are your papers?”

Sabine swallowed again. Her permission chip had fooled the controller, but he had barely been paying attention in the first place. Would it fool an already-suspicious supercommando?

A hand abruptly cracked across the back of the supercommando’s helmet. “Stow it, kid,” the slapper said, his command pauldron knocking against the first supercommando’s shoulder armour as he walked further into the shuttle. “Viceroy’s been requesting further help at the site for weeks, and that includes us. We don’t have time to double-check every traffic controller’s work.”

The supercommando stiffened, but saluted. If the salute was rather sloppy, no one commented.

She had once dreamed of joining these people, Sabine thought distantly. Dreamed of being a Mandalorian Supercommando, being the future of the Mandalorian warrior tradition.

Then the Purge had started.

And then Krownest had happened.

The air had been so cold that it had hurt to breathe. She’d run from Sundari, from Mandalore, from all the blood being spilled like it was water and tried to go back home where things made sense. She’d jumped shuttles, thought she was so clever, but the supercommandos had followed her, the red patterns on their armour like blood spilled on the snow. 

Her mother hadn’t said anything as they had taken her back. Hadn’t said anything as Sabine screamed for her with tears running down her cheeks. Just stared at her stonily.

The engines buzzed as they took off, matching the buzzing in her ears. The previous ebb of the memories had just been the water drawing back before a tsunami.

After she had shot that artist and been taken back to the Academy, her mind had been churning. Lying in bed with the other cadets snoring all around her, she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d gotten up and decided to look over the data that they’d collected; maybe if she could see their crimes, she could sleep, she remembered thinking.

But there were no crimes. 

She had looked at the data for hours, looked for hidden caches, codes, deleted files - and there was nothing.

The people that they had killed - that she had killed, had done nothing. 

She had tried to talk to some of the instructors, after that. Tried. But every time she had brought up concerns, every time - it had been like that awful moment all over again. A cold look and a curled lip. 

So she had left. Tried to go home, where things like this didn’t happen. She had gone home, and thrown herself into her mother’s arms, sobbing and telling her about what she had done, what she had seen -

And her mother had been silent. 

She’d thought that she’d been so clever with covering her tracks. She hadn’t even thought about the politics of what she was doing. As the daughter of the ruling clan head, of course the supercommandos had gotten involved.

Sitting on the shuttle, she had to force her fingers to lie straight and not curl into fists.

The supercommandos had landed in the middle of the night, and come into the Wren Compound, and pulled her from her bed.

And her mother had been silent.

And that was what had hurt the most. The way the supercommandos had called her a coward, being dragged in front of several visiting House Heads to be put on trial, the way the judges at her tribunal had upbraided her for ‘dereliction of duty’ - none of that hurt as much as the sight of her mother, stone-faced and still in her armour, simply watching as she was taken back to the slaughterhouse.

Silence was the knife that slipped between her ribs in her memories of those days. The silence of her mother. The silence of the House Heads as she tried to explain why she had left, why she couldn’t just watch her people being gunned down for nothing - the silence of the Academy as she was marched back through its halls -

Silence hurt far more than any word possibly could.

The shuttle gave a soft bump as it landed, shaking Sabine out of her memories. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth as subtly as she could, Sabine reminded herself of the lessons Kanan had taught her for pushing back the bad memories.

She had a mission. Ezra needed her to find him, get him out of the Grand Inquisitor’s hands. 

The ramp out of the ship began to lower, and Sabine stood up. The supercommandos were shuffling around, also ready to leave. 

She had a mission, and would complete it.

* * *

Of course, it was easy to say that she had a mission. It was less easy to push down all the memories that kept welling up as she walked through the Viszla Compound’s halls. It seemed that Krownest had taken more than a few decorative cues from the ancient compound. Every corner that she turned, she found another mural or architectural feature that reminded her of the place that she had once called home. She was almost glad to reach the part of the compound that had been gutted by the Imperials. The may have destroyed centuries-old artwork and architecture, but at least she didn’t have to constantly be swallowing back the thick spit that preceded stress vomit.

Keeping her walk purposeful, she threaded in between techs and roundheads, heading towards the commsec room. She’d checked the chrono as she had left the shuttle, and knew that this was the usual time for lunch for Imperial comms technicians. You had to love the Empire sometimes - everything had a schedule.

The inside of the room was empty, as she expected. Cups of caf, some still half-full, sat at several of the stations. Some of the stations were even still on, something that made Sabine want to cluck her tongue in disapproval. She stopped herself, though. It was working out to her advantage, after all.

Breaking into the security system was child’s play. Finding Ezra - not so much. Sabine’s lip curled. It seemed that the Inquisitorius was as fond of paperwork as ever - while Ezra passing into the Grand Inquisitor’s custody had been recorded, the man had apparently not felt like it was any real duty of his to put down where he was keeping Ezra now. So rather than the quick runthrough that she’d thought she’d have, she found herself having to manually check the feeds of every camera that the Empire had set up. 

That, of course, took time and concentration to do. So much so, in fact, that she almost missed the sounds of an argument heading towards her.

She stiffened, half-bent over one of the terminals. Shit - her eyes darted around the room, no time to get out - she’d have to hide but where -

Her eyes alighted on a vent in the ceiling. 

She was just putting the grate back into place when the doors hissed open, allowing two people to enter before closing again. One was a tall, muscular supercommando with white hair, his voice low and somehow familiar. The other -

Sabine focused on her breathing, pushing the fear that rattled along her nerves down before it had a chance to really get going. Inquisitors could sense emotions, and she couldn’t lose it now.

“- agreement, Inquisitor. The Committee itself said that you were to assist me in any way I see fit! You can’t just take off whenever you want!”

A sneer was evident in the Grand Inquisitor’s voice as he answered. “If, and only if it did not interfere with my duties of strengthening the Empire’s security.” His heels clicked loudly against the floor as he turned to face the supercommando. “In case you have forgotten, Viceroy, the Inquisitorius’ main concern is and always has been the security of the entire empire, not just one particularly troublesome sector.”

The Viceroy? Sabine’s breathing stuttered. Viceroy Saxon - why was he here? In his armor, as well? It was strange enough that an archaeological dig apparently needed Inquisitors, but the Viceroy himself, in full armour? 

In fact - why would it need supercommandos at all? The ones that had come over on the shuttle with her hadn’t been chatty, but they had also been fully armed and armoured, now that she thought about it. 

Neither of the two men below seemed to be willing to answer that, though.

“Ah yes,” Saxon said, his sneer also evident in his voice, “that boy you have in your office. Remind me again how one skinny boy is paramount to the safety of the entire Empire?”

Now there was a low, almost subsonic growl to the Grand Inquisitor’s words. “That is not your business, Viceroy. I’m not sure why you’re complaining about this, anyways. Was it not you the other day that was complaining about the Inquisitorius’ presence?” His voice shifted to something mockingly thoughtful. “Something about how you had the situation here well in hand?”

Saxon snarled. “I do have the situation in hand,” he said, murder dripping from his voice. “However, I cannot be in two places at once. And as the Viceroy of Mandalore, I am needed at the summit!”

The Grand Inquisitor snorted. “Yes, because faking a terrorist bombing requires oh so much oversight.”

…What?

Saxon snarled again. “Actually, it does. In case you’ve forgotten, clan politics can be quite literally cutthroat on Mandalore. Getting all of the Great Houses here for the summit and keeping them here has required more juggling and jumping through hoops than I think you realize. The fact that I am still, apparently, not quite legitimate enough in the eyes of many of the Great Houses only compounds the problems!”

“Oh I haven’t forgotten. With how you keep whinging on about it such a thing is quite impossible!”

Sabine could hear Saxon sucking in an angry breath through his teeth, but couldn’t quite focus on it with the way her head was spinning.

A faked terrorist attack, on the Heads of the Great Houses? She could see their plan spreading out in front of her in horrible detail. 

If the attack succeeded, and was a bombing, it was likely that they were aiming for a complete wipe out of all of the Heads.

Without the Heads, any resistance on Mandalore against the control of the Empire would be - well, decapitated. What was left of the Great Houses would fall into infighting, trying to figure out who their next heads would be. And with them weakened and the populace leaderless, no one would be able to resist the Viceroy, and by extension the Empire, consolidating more power within their hands. Hell, with how heated arguments over Headships could get, it was likely that taking more power would have a built-in excuse!

She could see it now. Anyone who tried to speak up against the Empire - it would be like the Cleansing all over again. People being killed for trying to do the right thing. The Empire’s control over the Mandalore sector would finally be complete. 

Like he was echoing her, Saxon spoke. “This plan,” he growled, prodding the Grand Inquisitor’s chest in a move that had Sabine left breathless at the sheer stupidity, “is key to finally cementing the Empire’s control over the Mandalore sector. Without its success the Empire could be fighting for control over the Great Houses’ dominions decades from now! We Mandalorians can be very stubborn, and you can bet your title that if they’re given an inch they’ll take a mile. Even as we’re talking here alliances are being made to resist the Empire’s attempts to horn in on what they see as their traditional rights! So if you want to explain to the Committee for Public Safety -”

The Grand Inquisitor caught Saxon’s prodding finger and in one smooth move bent it back until it broke. 

Saxon let out a yell, trying to step back, but the Grand Inquisitor didn’t let go. Sabine couldn’t see from her hiding spot, but he did something with the finger still caught in his grip that had all of the colour draining from Saxon’s face, his shout cutting off with a squeak.

“A word of advice, Viceroy,” the Grand Inquisitor said, his voice so cold it had chills crawling up Sabine’s back. “In the future, remember that I am not one of you toy soldiers that you can intimidate with a raised voice. I am the Grand Inquisitor of the Galactic Empire, a position that far outranks that of Viceroy of a troublesome, resource-poor set of systems.” Again, Sabine couldn’t see what the Grand Inquisitor was doing, but this time it had Saxon falling to his knees. “You do not threaten me.”

Saxon’s head was bowed by this time, soft, choked noises floating up to the vent that Sabine was hiding in. 

The Grand Inquisitor held on to Saxon for a few moments longer before finally letting go. “I will stay here for the Summit,” he said, calm and casual like he hadn’t just assaulted a planetary leader. “It is, after all, tomorrow, and I suppose that after all of the trouble, I’m curious enough to want to see the end of things here.”

Saxon let out a strangled grunt. 

“If you wish to speak to me further -” and the tone of the Grand Inquisitor’s voice made it very clear that no matter what he said that that wouldn’t be appreciated “- I will be down at the tomb’s doors, making sure your little soldiers don’t get scared.”

Saxon was silent, kneeling on the floor and panting with his hand cradled against his chest. 

The door hissed shut.

Still stunned from what she had just learned, Sabine jumped as the Viceroy surged to his feet, grabbed a half-empty mug of caf from one of the terminals and hurled it against the wall with a loud snarl. “BESOM CHAKAARYC!”

Then he turned and stormed out of the room, still cradling his hand against his chest.

Sabine swallowed. Pressing her forehead against the backs of her hands, she tried to ignore the way the grate was biting into her fingers and think.

The Empire was trying to kill the Heads of the Great Houses. No - were going to kill the Heads. That would completely destroy any possibility of organized resistance within the Mandalore sector for decades - someone had to warn them -

 _Like last time?_ The nasty little voice in her head hissed.

Sabine closed her eyes, and remembered the silence. 

No. She had a mission. A mission to save Ezra. She had to stay in the here and now.

Saxon had said that Ezra was in the Inquisitor’s office, and the Inquisitor had said that he would be down by the Tomb door, whatever that was. This was a chance that she might never have again. She’d seen a map in the documents - the office wasn’t too far from here.

She’d stay in the here and now. She’d save Ezra.


	13. Breakout

Ezra’s headache had only increased after the Grand Inquisitor left the room. It felt like someone had peeled off his skin, except inside his head. He could taste blood in his mouth, and he wasn’t sure if it was just from the slap.

Tilting his head back, he swallowed and breathed slowly, trembling. What had happened? What had that Light been? That voice? It had stopped the Grand Inquisitor - could it be another Force-sensitive, a Jedi? He’d heard the Jedi talking about how they had some of their people out in the galaxy, looking for supplies. Maybe it was one of them?

If it was - then this could be good. If he could get in contact with them - maybe they could help him escape! And even if they couldn’t - they could pass on a warning to the rest of the Resistance about the attack he had seen in the Grand Inquisitor’s memories!

It would hurt. He knew that in his bones, but - he wouldn’t know if he didn’t try. Shutting his eyes, Ezra swallowed once more and tried to reach out -

\- and then gagged as vomit shot up his throat. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, like someone was carving out his eyes, peeling off his face, it HURT -

_Shhh, padawan. Don’t push yourself. Just a little longer._

Ezra’s eyes shot open. Some of the vomit had managed to make it out of his mouth, mostly made up of bile thanks to his lack of appetite last night, and it stank horribly, but he had heard the voice again! 

Who are you? His head throbbed horribly, he was starting to feel like he was floating, and he tasted blood again, but he asked it again. Who are you? Can you help me? We need to warn the Resistance -

_Soon, padawan. Very soon._

The door across from him hissed open. Ezra flinched back - had the Grand Inquisitor returned?

He relaxed slightly when he saw the grey Imperial officer uniform. Still not great, but not as bad as the black armour of the Inquisitor. He looked up, towards the officer’s face, and his eyes abruptly began to burn.

“Sabine,” he breathed, more by accident than anything else, and he tried to reach towards her, forgetting about his bounds. “Sabine, you came -”

Sabine’s eyes looked suspiciously shiny, and her smile a bit stiff, but the way she wound her arms around his shoulders and squeezed was real enough. “Of course I did. I’d never leave a member of my family behind.”

A few tears escaped from Ezra’s eyes, and he blinked rapidly, sniffling. Reluctantly, Sabine unwound her arms from around him and began to pull apart the restraints. “We have to move fast to get out of here. I have someone helping me, but we’re going to be playing this escape by ear.” Both of his wrists were free, and he bent over to help her with his ankles. “Did the Grand Inquisitor do that to you?”

Ezra blinked at her. “Did he -” He abruptly remembered the heat that was suffusing the side of his face where the Grand Inquisitor had hit him and bit his lower lip. “Yeah. That was him. He was - he was trying to get into my mind.”

Sabine froze for a second, her eyes darting over to him, before going back to the restraint that she was working on. Pressing her lips together until they went white, the restraint popped open before she spoke again. “Can you - are you okay to walk?”

Ezra nodded. Leaning down, he began to work on his ankle restraints. His fingers were thick and clumsy, struggling with the fine work, but he knew this pain. Had had it inflicted on him more than once on Dromund Kaas. He could handle it. “Yeah,” he said. “Just - don’t ask me to pick any locks.”

Sabine didn’t smile. Her lips had practically disappeared, she was pressing them together so hard. Reaching over, she began to help him. “That’s fine. I can work with that - it looks pretty bad, we can pretend that I’m escorting you to the medbay.” The last restraint was off, and she stood up, looking around the room restlessly. “Did they leave - yes!”  
She darted over to the mess by one of the trashed tables and pulled a pair of cuffs out. “I’ll put these on you, but I won’t engage the locks. Are you okay with that?”

Ezra’s hands were prickling and aching as the circulation returned to his hands. The hairs on the back of his neck rose at the thought of putting something back around them, but staying here… “I’ll handle it. I just want out.”

She was gentle as she put the cuffs around his tender and bruised wrists, but it hurt anyways. He let the pain show on his face, figuring it would help sell the story.

And then they were outside of the room.

Ezra shuffled along as quickly as he dared, the two of them passing by a few technicians and a pair of stormtroopers. Keeping his head down and doing his best to look defeated, his thoughts curled back to the voice that he heard in his head. The way it had talked - it had been like it knew that Sabine was coming. Did that mean that it was nearby? It had also said that it would help him soon…

_Very soon._

Ezra nearly stumbled. Sabine caught him by the arm, keeping him from falling to the ground. He flicked his eyes around wildly - that had felt like it was nearby, like someone had suddenly been standing beside him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder - 

“Nice try,” Sabine growled in a cold Core accent. “On your feet.”

He couldn’t keep the flinch from showing. His stomach churned, and old memories tried to well up. Looking around him again, he only saw a technician shooting him an uncomfortable glance before scurrying off. It was only him and Sabine, who had spoken?

They continued on down the corridor. It was strangely empty of people, and Ezra wondered if they were all down at the dig that the Grand Inquisitor had talked about. 

The hallway itself was richly decorated, an enormous mural taking up the entire wall on one side. Dozens of colours were splashed along it in ways that should clash but just seemed right together, like Sabine’s old hair. Tall figures in white, their amour plates picked out in detail that reminded him of stormtroopers were marching on the multi-coloured people, who’s armour was less detailed and were lying on the ground. 

_Buir_ , someone whispered, the word winding past Ezra’s ears like the speaker’s heart was breaking.

Ezra looked at Sabine, but she was staring straight ahead, her face set stonily and shoulders tensed.

His head ached.

A set of doors ahead of them hissed open, spitting out another Imperial officer holding a datapad that stopped as he looked up and saw them. “Pardon me, ensign,” he said, his fuzzy eyebrows quirking, “but is that not the Grand Inquisitor’s prisoner?”

Behind him, Sabine stiffened. Ezra swallowed, his heart beginning to pound in his chest.

“Yes sir,” she said. Ezra could hear her heels clicking as she shifted her weight. “Orders to take him to the medbay for treatment. Straight from the man himself.”

For a moment, the other officer’s eyebrows raised higher. “Strange. After the fit he threw, I didn’t think he’d let the prisoner out of his sight.” The his eyebrows lowered along with his eyes, back to his datapad. “Damned man never tells us anything, I suppose. Carry on.”

Ezra remembered to breathe again. They were doing it! He shuffled forward, doing his best to look injured enough for a medbay. 

“Ah, wait a moment ensign,” the officer called.

Ezra’s heart stopped. This was it. They’d been found out -

“Yes sir?” Sabine replied, her voice admirably even.

“They’ve moved the medbay again. It’s back the way you were coming from,” the officer said.

“Thank you sir,” Sabine replied, her voice still even. She tugged on Ezra’s arm and he stumbled, allowing her to turn him around. 

They began to walk back the way they came. Ezra’s back prickled - that had been so close. He began to feel light-headed.

_Peace, padawan. All will be well._

Out of the corner of his eye, Ezra saw a black shape move.

Once they were out of range of the officer, Sabine bent over him, murmuring something comforting about looping back around. Ezra could barely hear her, focusing on keeping his eyes ahead. The light-headedness was getting worse. He felt like he he was floating, his pounding heart the only thing he could feel.

No. Not the only thing. He could feel the Force now, like it was waiting for something. Like one of the massive rogue waves on Lothal’s oceans, bigger than a building and about to crash down on him.

The black shape was connected to it. He was seeing it again, in the very corners of his eyes. Never when he was looking right at it. That crushing feeling of the Force around him increased until it was more like a mountain than a wave, a powerful presence like the Grand Inquisitor, or one of the Jedi Masters, powerful, but more neutral than either -

It was so hard. It was like he was being pushed out of his body. The Force was flowing all around him, no, rushing through him, tearing away at him like water fired through a hose. 

The mural on his other side was moving. The white-armoured figures were marching in perfect lockstep, their blaster firing red bolts as the colourful figures fell, their colours draining away like blood from a body. 

_Buir,_ someone cried, their heart and voice breaking. _Buir!_

The black shape looked humanoid now, standing in the corner of his eye.

He was losing his grip. He was floating, high above…

The alarm that went off echoed like they were underwater. The sigh he heard in ear was much louder even though no one was there.

_It’s alright, padawan. I will take care of this. My apologies in advance._

“…zra! Ezra!” Her fingers were digging into his wrists until the tips were white, fumbling with his cuffs, but he felt no pain. “They found out that we’re gone, we have to make a run for it!”

Ezra was floating high above. It was like moving a mountain, getting his head to turn and face Sabine. “Which way?” he asked, his tongue clumsy and not wanting to move.

“Up!” They were by a set of turbolifts, their doors dusty with disuse. 

DOWN, said a voice that had bellowed instructions on a thousand battlefields on a thousand worlds and could not be disobeyed, and the black shape that he’d seen in the corners of his eyes was now right beside him behind him in front of him and pushing him out of his body — 

“Down,” Ezra’s body said, hitting the button for turbolift.

* * *

Sabine stared at Ezra, incredulity pounding in her chest alongside her heart. “What?” she asked as the dusty turbolift doors shrieked open, temporarily drowning out the awful wail of the alarms.

“Down,” Ezra repeated, his eyes unfocused even as they looked at her, their brilliant blue only a thin rim around the deep black pools of his pupils. 

Oh hell, maybe she should have actually taken him to the medbay. Some sort of delayed concussion? “Ezra,” she said, grabbing his upper arm, “we have to get out of here. The lower levels of the Vizsla Compound are a maze, we’d never find our way out!”

“Down,” Ezra repeated. The doors were fully open now, an empty blackness that reminded her of a toothless mouth. A gust of old, stinking air stirred both of their hair. He put his hand on hers, his eyes still unfocused and looking at something past her, and then tightened his grip, stepping closer. His arms wrapped around her in a hug that forced the air from her lungs.

And then they toppled into the darkness, before she could draw enough air to scream.

Down, down, down they fell, into the depths of Compound Vizsla. Down until the air was foul with age and the little light that had been the open lift doors was as distant as a star. Her hands were digging into Ezra’s back and she could feel the cloth tearing, but she couldn’t force a scream out from her throat. Not even a whimper.

They were going to die. The Grand Inquisitor had gotten into Ezra’s head and put some sort of delayed command in for him to kill himself and rescuers. It was the only explanation as to what was happening right now. 

When she had gone out that night, after the farce of a court martial, after her family had been silent, after the plaza, she had been ready to die. She had had her family blaster against her head and tears in her eyes. 

And then Kanan had appeared from the night and stopped her. Kanan had taken her back to the crew with her bag of armour. Kanan had hidden her, taken her away from the slaughter when her family had given her back to the monsters. Zeb had stayed up with her in silence when she couldn’t sleep for the echoing screams in her head. Hera had given her a purpose, a goal of a free and just galaxy to work towards. She had stopped wanting to die and had started wanting to live, the wounds on her heart starting to close.

And now she was going to die here, after trying to save her new brother. 

She closed her eyes and let the tears begin to fall, whipped from her cheeks by the wind, and braced herself for death.

But the death that she expected did not come. The sudden stop and then blackness did not come. Instead there was the strangest sensation of slowing down, like they were on a speeder and someone was pumping the brakes. 

Several heartbeats that thundered in her ears passed, slowing and softening as each one was heard. Tears were falling down her cheeks in truth, now, the wind no longer strong enough to tear them away into the darkness. 

Sabine opened her eyes and saw stars.

The sides of the lift shaft were studded with points of light, like stars in the night sky. Soldiers marching far away, whispered a memory. Never gone, just marching far away. A night sky, stretching as far as she could see. She and Ezra were falling slowly now, gentle as a snowflake on a windless day, with their arms wrapped tight around each other and his head tucked into the crook of her neck.

She sucked in air that no longer smelled foul with age, her chest aching. “Ezra,” she whispered.

“Down,” he whispered back, in a voice that was not his own.

And then they were at the bottom of the shaft. The stars dimmed, now seeming so far away, up above them, but still there. Always there, watching over them.

Ezra let go, and Sabine nearly fell over, her knees feeling weak. “Ezra,” she said. Her voice sounded weak. Hushed. She closed her eyes, and banished thoughts of stars. “Ezra,” she repeated, her voice still low but now stronger. “Ezra, what the hell was that?”

But Ezra didn’t reply. Didn’t even seem to hear her. He was away, and in the dim light she could see his silhouette heading confidently towards one of the shaft walls.

Now that she wasn’t afraid that she was about to die, Sabine found herself struggling to push down a rising tide of anger. How dare Ezra suddenly do this? How dare he drag her down to the bottom of an ancient turbolift shaft and make her think that she was about to die? How dare he ignore her demands for an explanation?

Curling her hands into fists, she straightened her spine and marched over to where Ezra was standing. If he thought he could pull this poodoo with her, then he had another thing coming -

There was a soft hiss, and the section of the wall that was in front of Ezra moved, letting in a harsh beam of light and the unmistakable sound of Imperial chatter. 

Sabine stopped, panic rising in her throat. 

Short as Ezra was, he didn’t block much of the doorway. She could see past him into a massive cavern, lit up with stands of lights that were connected to humming generators by thick bundles of cables.

They were standing at what seemed to be a pathway several dozen meters above the bottom of the cavern. Below them, uniformed imperials and stormtroopers moved along the floor between tents and workstations, some carrying datapads, others carrying what had to be artifacts. Chatter floated up to them, just a little too distant for her to make out actual words. And at the very end of cavern opposite of them -

Oh hell. She knew those doors. She’d seen them in the history books, the copies that her mother had saved from the Duchess’ and later the Empire’s purges. Doors that only members of Clan Vizsla had seen in person since the founding of the Old Republic.

The doors to the Tomb of Tarre Vizsla, the Last Mand’alor, soared above everything in the cavern, reaching from the floor to the craggy ceiling and covered in old, intricate paint and carvings that showed his history and accomplishments. Dominating the center of the two doors was the tall black-robed figure of the man himself, helmeted with the Mask of Mand’alor and holding the Darksaber aloft. A painted halo of blue surrounded his head, glowing slightly even now in the dimness of the cavern’s heights, contrasting with the red of his carved visor.

Huddled up against the bottoms of the doors were sets of construction scaffolds, hiding the details of the doors and making her heart twinge at the symbolism.

Stars, what had Ezra dragged them into? She looked at where he was standing and her heart jumped into her throat. 

He was gone. She darted over to the entrance as quietly as she could and peered only to have the pounding organ press against her teeth.

They were set up high in one of the cave walls, a small exposed ledge running along from the door. Ezra had begun to walk along it, his steps as casual as if he was walking down a city street. And just below him, continuing to grouse, was a pair of stormtroopers, their helmets by their feet and passing something back and forth. 

Drawing on every ounce of stealth that she had and horribly aware that the lights of the camp did indeed reach up this high, Sabine set off after him.

The path was narrow, barely large enough for her to walk along. Smooth as it was, and with the bits of ancient railing that occasionally jutted up from the outside of the path, she guessed that at one time it had been an actual pathway. Now though, with with the thousand years that had passed since the Last Mand’alor’s death, it felt more like a death trap. She had to put her back against the wall and inch along to keep herself from feeling like she was about to fall. 

Ezra had no such fears. He just strolled along the path like he had walked it a thousand times before, not even looking back at her. As high as they were, Sabine didn’t dare to so much as hiss at him in case one of the Imperials below heard her.

And it wasn’t just the usual Imperials. At first glance, she had only seen scientists and regular stormtroopers down below, but as she inched along, her heart sank. She saw the white and red armour of Supercommandoes mixing with groups of stormtroopers, their jetpacks on their backs, and the black armour of Inquisitors. She didn’t see the tall pale figure of the Grand Inquisitor, but from the way people were massing as they inched closer to the doors, it was only a matter of time.

She looked back at Ezra. He didn’t seem concerned at all, but up ahead, she could see the path beginning to curve downwards, towards the floor of the cavern. 

Damn it, Ezra!

She began to scoot along a little faster, old gritty stone crunching softly under her boots. But Ezra was faster, and beginning to descend.

She was beginning to descend as well. Closer now to the various Imperials scurrying around, she could properly hear their conversations, and in the part of her mind not concentrating on stealth she wondered at their topics.

“- swear, I’m cracking down here. Kriffing seeing things out of the corner of my eyes, feeling like I’m being watched. It’s mad, but no one kriffing cares that we haven’t seen the sun in over a month…”

“Oh, you’re just seeing things? My mate’s been grabbed - looked like someone had literally taken a swipe at him, he was bleeding!”

“Gentlemen.”

Below her, the complainers freezed. Sabine herself nearly tripped and fell. Looking down, she saw one of the men that scared her most in the galaxy.

The Grand Inquisitor.

Whipping her head up, she saw that Ezra was halfway down to the ground now, and only by sheer luck it seemed that he hadn’t been spotted.

She didn’t stick around to hear what the Grand Inquisitor was saying. She was practically running sideways at this point, trying to reach Ezra before he reached the ground and attracted the attention of the Imperials. She was close now, close enough to reach out and grab the back of his shirt -

“Ezra,” she hissed, stopping him. “What the kriff are you doing?”

He was very still under her hand. Too still. In the time she had known Ezra, she knew that he was what her father had always called ‘a fidget’.

Ezra, or whatever was now in Ezra, turned his head and looked at her. His pupils were still blown wide like he was drugged, only a thin rim of blue left ringing them.

“We have to go in,” he said in a low, unsettlingly calm voice. “You have to go in. He wants to speak with us.”

“What? Who wants -”

“Hey! Who are you?”

Sabine snapped her head around and saw a technician pointing up at them. 

“We have to go in,” Ezra repeated. Then he surged forward with a strength that she had never felt from him before, dragging her along with him.

Other people had turned as the technician had spoke, and she could hear noises of alarm. Worryingly, some of the technicians were running back further into the cavern, shouting. More worryingly, she could see stormtroopers squads moving through the encampment, heading towards them. And most worryingly of all, she could see the black figures of Inquisitors heading towards them, their red blades already out.

“Shit -” Sabine cursed. Keeping one hand tangled in Ezra’s shirt, she fumbled for the pistol that Zare had managed to smuggle to her. Pulling it out, she quickly aimed and fired at the nearest stormtrooper as the first squad broke through the crowd.

It hit them square in the chestplate, leaving a red-hot smoking hole. The trooper went down. 

The rest of his squad didn’t, unfortunately. They just opened fire.

“Shit!” Sabine ducked as the red bolts whizzed past her, one coming close enough that she could smell the smoke rising from her stolen uniform. Ezra continued to charge ahead, now flat-out running as she kept firing at the stormtroopers.

“Foolish troopers! Get out of my way!” There was a scream and a hiss, and then the faintest whiff of burned meat. The Inquisitors had reached them, and now she had to dodge flying, spinning lightsabers.

Through all of this, Ezra kept running. Down down down they went, down to right in front of the doors where the path terminated. A few technicians were still on the scaffolding, but as the two of them kept running towards them they began to flee, clearly not wanting to be in the middle of a live firefight. 

A good call, Sabine thought sarcastically as she ducked underneath another lightsaber that left molten scoring on the wall. Jostled, her hat fell off. She squeezed a couple of shots at the Inquisitor that had thrown the thing and was rewarded with a loud, pained grunt and the Inquisitor dropping to their knee.

One down, five more to go. Oh, and all the stormtroopers as well. More squads pushed through the fleeing technicians and began to take aim.

Stars damn it, where was Ezra even going! They had reached the floor now and were running towards the scaffolding covering the doors. Sabine didn’t dare take her eyes off of the troopers shooting at them to glare at the boy but she spared a rude thought for him. Dragging her here - how were they going to get out of this? One measly pistol wasn’t much against a stormtroopers blaster rifle -

As if summoned by her thoughts, a feeling stole over Sabine. A very familiar feeling; one that she felt every time Kanan did something Jedi-like. Like all of the hairs along the back of her neck were lifting up as something impossible happened. 

There was a series of deep, grinding clunks, of the tumblers to some great lock being released after centuries of stillness. A great, drawn-out groan and a shudder through the floor that she could feel in her chest. A low howl as air entered a place that had been sealed for centuries. And a great crash as the scaffolding that had been pressed against the door came down beside her.

The shots stopped. The lightsabers stopped. The running stopped. All of the Imperials were staring at her and Ezra.

Sabine risked a look behind her and felt her jaw drop.

The great doors to the Mand’alor’s tomb had opened. Just a crack, but far enough that she could just see Ezra disappearing into the darkness beyond them.

She forgot the enemies in front of her at that moment, seeing the bright orange of his shirt disappearing. She forgot everything, except the possibility of losing another member of her family. 

“EZRA!” she screamed, lurching after him. She hadn’t come this far just to lose him!

The darkness yawned in front of her as she plunged headfirst into the tomb, following the path of light that the opened doors let in. It rose up and around her, swallowing her whole. 

Behind her, the doors were groaning again. She could feel those deep, shuddering vibrations in her chest once more, and the light in front of her was disappearing, the path thinning and fading. She plunged on anyways without hesitation. She had lost one family to the dark of the Empire before - she wouldn’t lose another one. Light or no light, she would find Ezra, and then get them both out of here!

Just as the final word of that thought left her mind, the doors shut behind her with a final boom. The path of light that she had been following disappeared. And there was only darkness around her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're getting into the fun stuff...
> 
> Seriously, I've been looking forward to writing this part of the story since I first came up with it. Hope you guys like it! And as ever, let me know what you think in the comments :)


	14. Meet the Mandalorians

The saying was that it took 21 days to make a habit of something. Kleeve was rather skeptical of that; he’d found himself looking forward to his daily cups of tea with Queen Organa much faster than that, surely? 

Breathing in the fragrant steam, Kleeve took a sip. “Where do you even manage to find such good tea out here?”

Organa smiled at him over the lip of her own cup, her eyes glittering mischievously. “Have you never heard ‘a magician never reveals their secrets’, General?”

Kleeve chuckled. He needed this. After finding out the Jedi were leaving, figuring out how to break it to the rest of the Resistance, hearing that Master Windu had collapsed - he needed a break. And a cup of tea and some quiet, light chit-chat was just what the doctor ordered.

As soon as that thought finished, the door to his office opened and Doctor Tigu rushed in, not even waiting for the door to open completely. 

“Doctor Tigu -” Kleeve began, straightening in his seat.

Tigu slapped his hand down onto his desk with a crack and began signing furiously, his fingers nearly blurring. :The Jedi say that we are trying to take advantage of them. Is that true?:

“What?”

Tigu let out a hiss of air through his sharpened teeth. :I went and spoke with Doctor Nema last night. I wanted to talk to her again, try to understand why the Jedi are so reticent to work with us, and when I finally asked her she said that us trying to help with the children was just an attempt of our superiors to gain control over them once again!:

“I -” Kleeve blinked rapidly, trying to grip on to this speeding train of a thought process. The Jedi - they thought that the offers of help were a trick? They thought that the Resistance was - what, trying to take over their Order? “I can’t speak for my fellow leaders, but I myself never meant to give off such an impression to the Jedi.” He rubbed at a horn, feeling like he’d just been struck over the head by a wrench. “I suppose that this explains why they wish to leave,” he muttered to himself.

“What!” 

Crap, that’s right, he hadn’t told anyone. Whoops.

The human woman put down her cup hard enough that Kleeve thought it would break. “The Jedi are leaving?!” Her expression was shocked. “Why have you not told anyone?”

Glancing over at Tigu, Kleeve saw a similar expression of horror on his face. He hunched his shoulders, feeling unaccountably like a scolded schoolboy. “I was only informed three days ago,” he said weakly. “I didn’t know how to break it to the rest of High Command.”

Tigu ran a hand along a lek, staring into space. Organa looked similarly stunned. “But,” she said, “the Jedi - the Republic -”

Kleeve shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. Master Windu was unfortunately rather reticent as to their reasons behind leaving.”

:It’s because they think we only want their military power,: Tigu signed slowly. :They don’t - they don’t seem to think that you actually care about the children.:

“Don’t care?” Organa sounded heartbroken. “They think we don’t care? How could they think that, after Dromund Kaas?”

:Doctor Nema said,: his hands stilled for a moment in a stutter, :she said that the Jedi threw their morals and lives away during the war, and that no one cared when their children were dying during the Temple Massacre. That they were berated for their sorrow.: He looked at Kleeve pleadingly. :Please, tell me that that isn’t true. Tell me that she’s remembering things wrong.:

Kleeve put his cup down, finally, memories tickling the back of his brain. He’d been on the opposite side of the fall of Coruscant, and had stayed with the Empire for years afterwards, but he could remember reports crossing his desk about the remnants of the Republic seeming to split. Of the Jedi and their clones taking their ships and disappearing into the dark spaces between stars after some sort of argument…

Looking across his desk, he could see that Queen Organa had gone very pale. 

“My husband…” she began, trailing off. Her hands, still cupping her drink, were trembling, making the fine china cup rattle against its saucer. “Bail, he mentioned that after the flight from Coruscant…”

Kleeve’s stomach dropped. “It’s true?”

Organa lifted her shaking cup to her lips and took a gulp. “I remember,” she began haltingly, “I remember Bail talking about the other senators. The generals, after the Fall of Coruscant. They - they were upset, about the Jedi breaking formation during the battle and going back down to the surface…”

Tigu’s hands were still. His eyes were wide with horror. Kleeve swallowed back bile. “And then we the CIS tore down their Temple, to the wild applause of the public.” He looked down at his hands and saw that his knuckles had gone a pale pink. 

No one spoke for a long, long minute.

:I never,: Tigu began. He made a fist, and then began signing again. :I never really put it together like that,: he said. :In a timeline.: His hands were trembling as well, the fingers making their shapes without their usual fluidity. :No wonder they think that we have such crass reasons behind helping them. There’s no reason for them to think that we’d actually care, is there?:

Kleeve looked back down at his hands, gripping his cup tight. Tigu was right; what reason had they given the Jedi to believe that their attempts to work with them were genuine? And when he thought about it — could he say that his coworkers’ attempts were genuine? More than once he had heard grumbling about the Jedi’s insistence on keeping themselves separate, of how it ‘muddied the chain of command’…

Reaching up, he rubbed his horn again. Hell. Hell hell hell. “No wonder they’re leaving,” he muttered.

There was silence for another long minute. 

“Perhaps…” Organa began, before clearing her throat. “Perhaps we can stop them from leaving, if we open up discussion about this? If we clear the air —”

“I doubt it,” Kleeve said quietly. “Master Windu was — quite clear that they wouldn’t be dissuaded.”

“Still,” Organa said. Looking up, Kleeve saw that she had thinned her lips. “Still, this is not a state that should be continuing. What we managed to do together — it was amazing. One of the biggest blows we’ve every been able to strike against the Empire. Even if they pull back into a separate state from us, clearing the air between our groups can only be beneficial.” Her shoulders were set like a soldier that was part of an ancient shield wall. “Do you not agree?”

Kleeve bit the inside of his cheek and dropped his chin to his chest. “I do,” he admitted. “We’re still seeing the effects of the raid, and the other joint missions. The Jedi are incredible to work with —” He gritted his teeth. “I’m simply unsure as to whether or not the Jedi are willing to listen, after so long.”

“Well,” she said, lifting her chin. “We won’t know until we try.”

* * *

Rahm sat on the medbay bed quietly, his head still buzzing from what he had found out last night. A few feet away, he could hear Knight Nema talking to the blue girl-child that she had seemingly become fond of, asking her how she liked her book as she put away the notes from his check-up. The Tale of Revan, Nema had said. An old favourite of his padawan — he’d loved the battles, and Revan’s redemption from the dark. It was a favourite fairytale of the Order in general, and Rahm wondered if Galen had ever heard the story before —

Rahm swallowed and rubbed the side of his face, his mind curving back to the thought that had dominated his mind for the past hours.

His padawan. Kento. Kento — hadn’t died. He’d been alive all this time, raising a child. Raising his son. He hadn’t died in the tunnels of Geonosis underneath a swarm of Separatist droids and had his body dragged off for Force-knew-what.

Kento hadn’t died then.

Instead, he’d died in front of his son. He’d been attacked in his home, mutilated, and then dragged out to have his throat slit as he tried to comfort his young son. His son, that had somehow ended up in the same engine room as Rahm.

The Force had a sick sense of humour.

“Master Kota?”

Rahm jumped slightly. “Ah — yes?”

Knight Nema’s amusement tickled at the back of his brain. “My apologies for frightening you, Master. I was just asking you how you’ve been doing since our last check-up?”

“I — uh,” Rahm muttered, reaching up to scratch at the bit of scar tissue that peeked out from the cloth strip he covered his empty sockets with. “I don’t know.”

“Oh?”

Rahm let his hand drop down to his lap and clenched it into a frustrated fist. “I just — found out something,” he said reluctantly. “Something —”

He sighed, slumping. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember if you ever had the chance. Did you every meet my padawan before the war?”

A tickle of confusion, of someone reaching back into their memories. “Kento, right? Kento something, human, dark hair and blue eyes?”

Rahm swallowed at how easily his padawan was broken down into basic traits. “Yeah,” he said. “Kento Marek. And I’ve been talking with one of the rescued kids. Know what I just found out his name was?”

Nema made a politely interested noise.

“Galen Marek.”

There was a pause, and then a sudden intake of breath. More interestingly, though, Rahm felt a flicker of interest from the other inhabitant of the room. What had she been called? Tharassa?

“They’re related?”

Rahm pushed aside Tharassa’s interest and nodded. “His son. Learned it from the boy’s own mouth.”

“But, didn’t Kento die on Geonosis? The boy only looks to be twelve years old -” Nema fairly radiated confusion. 

Rahm swallowed down a lump in his throat. “He didn’t. Not on Geonosis, at least.” He squeezed his hands into fists in his lap. “Apparently, he died when the Inquisitors came for Galen. Slit his throat right in front of the boy after cutting his arms off.”

Nema was silent. Then Rahm felt a gentle, warm hand on his shoulder. “Master Kota,” she said softly, “I’m so sorry. This cannot be easy for you.”

Rahm bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing his snarl. “It isn’t. I just — I just don’t understand why Kento did that. Faked his death.”

That was what had chased his thoughts through the night. What had him so unsettled.

Why had Kento faked his death? For all of their troubles with each other, their relationship had been improving from the state it had been in after the mission. Rahm was sure of it — had they not begun joking around with each other again on the way to Geonosis? Had he not seen Kento begin to smile again?

So why, then, had his padawan run away? Said nothing to him, left not even a hint that he was alive? Left Rahm with a gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been?

He felt so tired. So old.

“I wanted to ask the boy,” he said quietly, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. “Ask him if he knew why his father had done that. But that would be being attached, wouldn’t it?”

He’d been warned against that his entire life. Attachment was the root of many a Fall, he’d been lectured. Many a Darksider had found themselves giving in to hatred and anger over another person, and for so long Rahm had believed in that whole-heartedly. Had prided himself on his detachment. And then —

It always came back to that damned mission. He’d lost his detachment then. Or had he lost it earlier? Maybe he’d lost it the moment he’d taken Kento as a padawan, the moment he’d ignited his lightsaber, the moment he’d smiled at Rahm after mastering a particularly difficult kata — there were so many moments. So many memories. And all of them had kept him from accepting that his padawan had touched the Dark Side…

Another hand clapped down on his other shoulder, shaking him out of his downward spiral of dark thoughts. 

“Master Kota,” Nema said. “Rahm. Forgive me for my forwardness, but you must stop blaming yourself for what happened between you and Kento. He was old enough to be being considered for his Trials. Whatever happened, whatever reason was behind him deciding to fake his death, it was his decision alone. There was nothing you could have done to stop him.”

Rahm disagreed, but held his tongue. She couldn’t know of the tension between them in the months before the war started. She didn’t know that he’d failed so miserably at reaching out to his own padawan.

…Force. He was dead. He was dead, and Rahm would never be able to talk to him again, to explain — 

“As for Galen…” She hesitated. “I was not aware that such a thing — happened to him. Many of the children knew that their parents were killed, but not many had it done in front of them — I will have to bring this up with his mindhealer. Do you know who that is?”

Still struggling with the memory of Kento, Rahm distractedly shook his head. “No, I’ve only been talking to him in the engine rooms. Try asking Taa, she’s been helping him learn the basic Jedi tenets.”

He could feel a ripple of confusion from Nema, and of concern shading into fear from Tharassa. But he didn’t think much of it. His head was buzzing again, a clash of memories and confusion and old, old grief. 

Getting up from the bed, he straightened his robes. “I’ve taken up enough of your time, Knight Nema,” he said quietly. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. I’ll see myself out.”

“Ah, wait,” Nema began. But Rahm was already halfway out of the door, his throat dry and begging for a drink. 

As the door closed behind him, he felt the frisson of concern from Tharassa begin to pitch slowly into a deep current of fear.

* * *

Kanan snorted and wiped at his nose, inspecting it closely in the fresher mirror. Still a little red in the nostrils, but nothing that was noticeable without a very careful examination.

Behind him, Fokkay was standing and shifting from one foot to another. “Are you sure that you’re okay to go through with this?” they asked. “Because if you get another migraine like that —”

“I know the risks,” Kanan said, sniffing and throwing the used tissue into the trash. “And it won’t happen again. Whatever the Grand Inquisitor was doing to Ezra, he had to have gotten one hell of a backlash. Besides,” he said, running a hand through his newly-shorn hair, “I’m already prepped for it.”

Fokkay looked skeptical, but held out the helmet Kanan would be using anyways. Taking it, Kanan put it on and rolled his shoulders. The armour didn’t fit quite right over his shoulders, but he’d been assured by Mahhae that it wasn’t obvious to the eye. “Right,” he said. “Let’s go then.”

Fokkay just nodded and lead him out of the fresher. 

The view from the helmet was odd. Restrictive. Kanan didn’t like it; all the heads-up displays couldn’t compare to the Force, and the metal that the helmet was made of felt funny whenever he tried to reach out past it. If he was going to make it into the Summit, though, he had to be able to pass as one of Rau’s clansmen bodyguards. His usual shirt and shoulder armour wouldn’t cut it.

Outside of the fresher, the others were waiting. Rau was holding a holo-disk that was projecting the upper body of Hera, pausing their conversation as Kanan came into the room.

“Hey,” Kanan said, his voice sounding muffled to his ears, “how’s Kandal settling in?”

“Pretty well,” Hera replied, her voice muffled as well. “How’s the armour fitting?”

“Pretty well,” Kanan replied. “Everything set up?”

She nodded. “Channels are open and Chopper’s keeping an eye on flight traffic. You call and we can be there in five minutes.”

“Hopefully, though, things won’t come to that,” Rau said. He had dark circles under his eye, but the suit that he was wearing was spotless. Covering him from his neck to the tips of his fingers, his outfit was a monochrome black so dark that it looked like someone had cut out a shape in the air. If someone had sprinkled some glitter on it he could have been a starfield.

Kanan inclined his head. “Hopefully.”

With the way that the Force had insisted he take his lightsaber apart and hang the pieces from his belt, though, he wasn’t actually hopeful. 

There was a speeder waiting outside for them, driven by an unarmoured Imperial in a grey uniform that matched the clouds in the sky. Taking his cues from Fokkay and Mahhae, Kanan ignored him as he climbed in and took a seat beside Rau. 

As they drove to the summit location, Kanan counted his breaths and tried to meditate. The pain that had lanced through his head earlier today had been — frightening. Thick and sticky with the Dark Side, it had felt like someone had been sawing and tearing at his bond with Ezra, sending shooting pains through his skull so bad that he’d ended up vomiting into the fresher sink as the Mandalorians were cutting his hair. Tears had streamed from his eyes, and his nose had just started gushing blood when the pain had suddenly stopped. Stopped like a switch had been thrown, only to be replaced with the soothing feeling of the Light Side smoothing over the frayed rope of their bond.

Or had it been just the Light Side? For a moment, Kanan could have sworn he’d felt a presence. It hadn’t felt Dark; in fact, it had reminded him of Master Billaba, a steady certainty in the Light as the Force churned around him, but still — there would hardly be a Jedi Master on Mandalore, would there?

The speeder slowed, and Kanan reluctantly pulled himself from his meditations. He had to stay focused; he was here to gain access to an Imperial database, not mull over the mysteries of the Force. Even if it seemed to be connected to his padawan.

The summit was taking place in the main Imperial base on Concordia, an enormous block of a building that had been built over the city’s main meeting hall. Literally built over; as they came up on the building, Kanan was struck by how the angles of the Imperial parts of the building looked like they were slowly absorbing the more traditional Mandalorian architecture underneath. The comms tower that was attached near the back was the worst part of that, looking more like some great child had plopped it on top of the building than like a planned addition.

The architectural confusion only got worse as they came to a stop in front of the main entrance way. The front facade had the straight lines and stark lack of colour of the Empire, but the large doors that they were headed towards were heavily decorated with the angular carvings that Mandalorians seemed to like in their art. The carvings themselves were of Mando warriors, seemingly marching in lockstep with the Imperial Crest above them like the sun. 

There was a soft, staticky noise of disgust over his armour’s private comms channel. Careful to keep his body language neutral, Kanan flicked onto it. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Mahhae said, audibly disgusted. “Just the carvings on the door. Kriffing propaganda. It’s not even any good, boring to look at.”

Kanan couldn’t keep a surprised chuckle from leaving his mouth. “Didn’t realize you were an art critic.”

“She’s not,” Fokkay chimed in. “Art’s just a part of a traditional Mando education. It’s annoying that the Empire thinks such shitty work would be effective on us. I mean, the colours alone…”

Despite the tension of what they were walking into, Kanan’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Kind of wish Sabine was here. She’d have a field day talking to you guys.”

“Maybe we’ll get that chance soon,” Mahhae said quietly. They had reached the door now, guarded by a few stormtroopers. Rau handed his invitation to the one wearing a commander’s pauldron and stepped back as they scanned the chip. Despite the reassurances that he had gotten back in the hotel suite, Kanan found himself holding his breath.

After what seemed like an hour, the commander finally handed back the chit with a reluctant nod. “Viceroy Saxon will summon you soon,” he said. “Have the information ready to be handed off.”

Kanan raised an eyebrow at the commander’s curt tone. Wasn’t Rau some sort of bigshot?

But Rau hadn’t reacted negatively to the Commander’s tone. His face neutral, he stiffly inclined his head. “It is,” he simply said.

The commander grunted, the noise crackling with static. “Move along, then.”

Rau tucked his hands behind his back and did so, Kanan and the others following on his heels. There were even more stormtroopers inside of the summit building, walking around in pairs. Their blaster rifles were cradled in their arms, all the more glaring for the lack of weapons on everyone else. Even the people in traditional Mando armour that were acting as bodyguards had to keep their blasters’ power packs hanging separately from their weapons on their belts as Kanan did. From the low, tense hum he could feel more than hear coming from up ahead, he was not the only one to be very aware of that.

After a couple of minutes of walking through several colourless hallways, they finally reached what seemed to be the main gathering room of the summit. 

This room, at least, had some colour in it. Granted, the colour was mostly red, but after the relentless black and white of earlier, even that was a relief. 

Enormous and round, the room’s roof soared above them, covered in glittering mosaics of what Kanan assumed were historical figures. Beneath it was a gleaming floor of polished red stone where large groups of people milled about on, never quite mixing and giving off the impression of staring at each other suspiciously. Kanan could see several other sets of Mando armour surrounding certain individuals, but most of the people here were obviously just Imperial politicians. They chattered and swarmed about in their Imperial-style clothes, seemingly trying to drag the different Mandalorian groups into talking to each other but failing miserably. Along the sides, balconies were held up on red and black pillars and encircled the room, holding stormtroopers and Imperial officers alike that looked down on those below with superior expressions. There were stairwells that seemed to lead up to the balconies, but the stormtroopers that stood by them discouraged anyone from trying to leave the main floor.

“Alright, Jedi,” Fokkay murmured over their private channel, “ready to go over the different houses again?”

Tearing his eyes away from the staircases, Kanan made an assenting grunt. They’d tried to quickly bring him up to speed while they were cutting his hair, but the attack on Ezra and its effects on him had cut them off. With how the Mandalorians he could pick out in the crowd were acting, though, he had the feeling that he’d best be paying close attention to Fokkay and Mahhae’s words now.

Plunging into the crowd, he was immediately battered with information about the different groups he’d picked out in the crowd. 

“Okay, we’re coming up to House Shysa — they hate Saxon almost as much as we do,” Mahhae began.

“Saxon’s been cracking down on them and their clans, though, so they’re probably going to try and avoid talking to us too much. Don’t want to make it look like they’re planning something,” Fokkay said. “They’re also a little less traditional than us — worked as mercs a lot during the Duchess’ rule.” They snickered. “Had her saying that they weren’t true Mandalorians.”

“Which is besides the point,” Mahhae said, smoothly cutting in. “House Rau’s gotten along with them most of the time — the occasional bit of competition, since we both tend to turn out excellent pilots, but mostly we get along with them.”

“That doesn’t mean that they’ll go out of their way to help us, though,” Fokkay warned, his amusement fading quickly from their voice. “House Head is Fenn Shysa, in the green. Our Fenn will probably try to swing over to talk to him at some point.”

“Thought you just said they’ll be trying to avoid talking to us,” Kanan questioned.

“Too much. Avoiding each other completely when we’re known friendlies will be just as suspicious as talking too much.”

The green-clad man, this Fenn Shysa, already had a drink in his hand as they passed by him. He was wearing a neutral look on his face as an Imperial bureaucrat chattered at him, but from how his eyes slid over to look at them as they passed, Kanan doubted that he’d taken more than a brief sip.

“Next up is Kryze,” Mahhae said.

“Led by Bo-Katan, right?” Kanan asked, seeing the red-head standing ahead of them and looking tense in her long-sleeved dark blue dress. As he watched, she shifted her weight, revealing a pale leg through a long slit in the skirt. “I think I remember the Republic dealing with her during the mess with Darth Maul.”

“You remember right, but don’t mention it here,” Fokkay warned. “She barely escaped Saxon being declared Viceroy with her head as it is. In fact, just avoid her and her group altogether.”

“We used to be very close,” Mahhae explained. “The Protectors used to protect the Mand’alor, and when the Dukes and Duchesses came in, we switched to protecting them.” She paused for a moment. “I’m pretty sure she blames us for her sister’s death.”

“Wasn’t she a part of Death Watch, though? The group that put Maul in power in the first place?”

“Yeah, but again, don’t mention that. She’s got dozens of excuses for that and will probably just shoot you for your trouble.”

The cool, statuesque Bo-Katan didn’t show any signs of even seeing them as they passed her by, but Kanan was pretty sure that testing that would end badly for everyone involved.

By that group was a bunch of grey-armoured people with their arms crossed, staring down a pair of politicians that were trying to make conversation with the grey-clad and grey-haired man they seemed to be protecting. The man had an impressive jawline that the high neck of his stiff-looking jacket did nothing to hide.

“Ordo,” Mahhae said, answering Kanan’s question before he even said it. “Very traditional. Produced more than one Mand’alor when we still had Mand’alors.”

“We used to be close with them, what with the whole Protectors thing, but things got tense around the time the Duchess came to power. Haven’t really had the time to repair things,” Fokkay said. “Mostly they keep to themselves, but I’ve heard rumours that they’ve been causing some trouble recently over the Empire trying to get involved in Clan politics. They’re very traditional and don’t much like non-Mandalorians.”

“And their view on Jedi?” asked Kanan, already knowing the answer.

He could almost hear Fokkay grinning. “Absolutely hate them.”

“Great.”

The grey-haired man didn’t bother to be subtle as they passed him by. He flat out turned his head and watched them, completely ignoring the politicians speaking to him. Rau in turn acknowledged him with a very slight incline of his head.

The grey man’s eyes narrowed slightly.

It didn’t matter though, as they had already moved past him, towards a group in red. Kanan wasn’t sure what it was, but something about them made his gut clench.

“The Fetts,” Mahhae said solemnly.

Oh. Wait —

“Like Jango Fett?” Kanan hissed.

“Yes, but under no circumstances and at no time are you to mention that,” Fokkay said quickly.

“So Jango —”

“Under no circumstances and at no time, Jarrus,” Mahhae said warningly.

Kanan couldn’t keep his heart from speeding up as they passed the group, though. He’d gotten a bit better about the clones over the last six months — he kind of had to, with so many hanging around the other kids from Dromund Kaas — but now that he was looking for it he could see a definite resemblance between the clones and the man being protected by his red-armoured warriors. His heart only began to slow down once they were several feet past the group without anyone reacting, and even then his scalp was itchy with sweat.

“And finally,” Fokkay said as they came up to the final group, “the odd ducks of the Great Houses, Skirata.” These warriors were wearing yellow and gold and not even bothering with looking like they were interested in talking with anyone. “So traditional that even House Ordo gives them funny looks. They flat out seceded when the Duchess came to power and only came back when the Empire came in. Honeymoon was over fast, though. Pretty sure they’re only still playing ball with the Empire because they’ll be wiped out if they don’t.”

“So, basically, everyone in the room hates each other and us especially,” Kanan said in a light tone that he didn’t actually feel. “Good to know.”

Mahhae huffed a small laugh.

Kanan wasn’t paying attention, though. As soon as the last word had left his lips, he’d felt it.

The Dark Side. Like a predator appearing nearby its prey, it stalked through the room, reaching and searching through the emotions around it. From the way the conversation in the room quieted, Kanan was sure that even the non-Force-sensitives could feel it.

Carefully raising his shields just a little bit higher, he tried to casually raise his head a little to see if he could find the Inquisitor that had just entered the room.

He was lucky; almost immediately, he found his eyes being dragged towards the balconies. There, standing at the banisters, was the tall, grey-skinned figure of an Inquisitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy, so, sorry. I know I said that we were getting into Freaky Force Shit, but I forgot about this chapter. It's setting up the climax of the rest of the story, so it's kind of necessary. After this though, it's straight back to Freaky Force Shit, I swear!


	15. Judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry, now we're getting into the Freaky Force Shit. Or as it was put in my rough draft, FREAKY FORCE SHIT!!

Sabine swore and forced herself to slow down as the light disappeared.

The echoes of her curse bounced through the air, echoing back to her. Behind her, she could hear faint tapping sounds, undoubtedly Imperials trying and failing to get in through the door. Ahead of her, she could just hear the fading echoes of Ezra’s footsteps. She had to get to him, find out what the hell was going on — but just running on ahead when she couldn’t see her own hand in front of her face was a recipe for cracking her head open. 

Frantically, she began to pat her borrowed uniform down. Her brain was chasing its own tail, refusing to remember whether or not officers carried around their own lights. There were the code cylinders, the comm, her blaster — her blaster! Which undoubtedly had a power pack…

It was only because she’d been handling blasters since she was four that Sabine could unload the pack by touch. Pulling it out, she blinked rapidly at the light that was spilling from the fuel gauge along its side and grinned. The line of lights that showed tibanna gas levels in the pack were full, spilling a green light across her gloves and front. Outside, this much light was nothing. Inside the pitch-dark of the tomb, though, it was perfect. Lifting the power pack above her head, Sabine looked around.

The enormity of it struck her first. The doors that she had gone through — they barely went halfway up the wall to the curved, shadowy ceiling. She was standing in a puddle of light, on a flagstone that could have comfortably contained two of her lying down, foot to head, the carved walls of a room over a hundred meters away. Huge statues of Mandalorian warriors stood as pillars against the walls, their armour painted entirely in a deep black that seemed to suck in the light from her power pack like black holes except for their red visors. Between them, Sabine could see murals in white and grey that lead towards the other end of the room, showing scenes that any Mandalorian would recognize as the Last Mand’alor’s accomplishments in his rise to power. They ended at another set of doors, flanked on both sides with smaller black-painted statues holding what could only be the Darksaber aloft. The doors themselves were also painted black, but for the stars that were picked out in white against them. A particularly large one that covered the seam where the doors split was tilted, showing that they had been opened.

No one had seen this since the exile of Pre Vizsla. Sabine could hear her heartbeat in her ears and feel her stomach float as she took a step forward, wincing at how the click of her heels echoed. No one had come down here, opened the doors, seen these painted statues and murals since she was born. Maybe even for longer, depending on Pre Vizsla. She was the first person in over a decade to see this.

She wondered what her mother would think about that.

No. No, she wasn’t going to think about that. Sabine shook her head and lightly slapped her cheek. She had to focus. She had to stay in the here and now. She couldn’t think about her mother, about the trial, about the silence from the Heads of Houses that she admired, the same Heads that were going to die —

Sabine forced herself to breathe and clear her mind. Here. And. Now.

The starry doors were set in a white stone archway that soared above her. The material that they were made of rasped under the leather of her gloves. Sabine pressed against them, expecting them to resist her pushing them open further —

But there was none. The door swung open soundlessly under her touch, making her stumble, and then there was light.

Catching herself, Sabine straightened, hastily slamming the powerpack back into her blaster as her heart thudded in her chest. Where had this light — 

No. 

No no no no no. This was impossible. Sabine shoved her blaster back into her belt and scrubbed at her face furiously. This was impossible, she couldn’t be here!

But even after rubbing her eyes until she saw stars, when she opened them she still saw her mother’s throne room. She saw its milky-white stone throne. She saw the painting of her mother stretching up behind it. She saw the windows, letting in streams of weak early-morning light.

And she saw the doors to the balcony, open wide and silhouetting her mother’s figure in that same light. 

She looked exactly the same as the last time Sabine had seen her. Wearing her armour, her hair neatly pinned up despite the early hour in the hairclip Sabine had carved for her before she went to the Sundari Academy. She was facing away from Sabine, her back straight and arms folded behind her back.

Sabine could hear herself breathing harshly and swallowed. “Mom?”

The figure of her mother didn’t react.

Sabine took a step forward, the sound of her footstep echoing in empty throne room. “Mom? Please —” She didn’t even know what was asking for. Her heart was still beating hard, but now it felt like it was struggling against a hand squeezing it. “Mom.”

Her feet were tapping against the tiles quickly, a tap-tap-tap that pattered like raindrops against glass. The cool morning air brushed against her cheeks. “Mom.”

Her mother turned away. She didn’t move, but as Sabine tried to step in front of her she continued to face away, showing only her back to Sabine. 

Sabine tried to step in front of her mother again.

Again, she only saw her mother’s back.

“Mom!” Sabine could feel her eyes burning. She reached out, put a hand on the cold metal of her mother’s shoulder armour. “Mom, please look at me —”

Two heavy hands clapped down on her shoulders. Sabine turned her head, and saw the red-painted helmets of the supercommandos meeting her eyes.

Another set of hands clamped down on her wrists, also painted the red of supercommandos. Sabine turned back to her mother.

She was still facing away.

“Mom — buir — please —” The supercommandos’ fingers were digging into her arms. “Mom, please, say something —”

She was still facing away.

“Please —”

She was still facing away.

“Please —”

She was still facing away.

“PLEASE —”

Her feet shrieked against the floor as the supercommandos dragged her back, away from the door. Tears were streaking down her face, leaving cold tracks that froze against her cheeks. And still, her mother didn’t move, didn’t react to her screams.

A hand was now in her hair and wrenching her head around. They weren’t in Krownest anymore. They were in the tribunal room in Sundari. The tall windows were letting in light, harsh and blinding and not letting her see outside. The figures of the Heads of the Great Houses were sitting along the windows in their highbacked chairs, their faces hidden by the light haloing their head. At the end of the room there was a set of white podiums that the Imperial military judges were sitting at, their faces shrouded in shadows.

It was just like that day — right down to the screams outside.

“Sabine Wren of House Vizsla,” the middle judge boomed. “You stand accused of desertion. Do you have any explanation for this?”

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. The hands that had been holding on to her were gone and yet she couldn’t move as surely as if she had been chained down.

This day. She remembered this day. She remembered what she had said —

“Because this is wrong!”

Sabine heard her own voice, but she hadn’t spoken. She turned her head.

Oh. There she was. The Sabine from that day.

She looked like crap. Dark circles underneath her eyes from nightmares, black, undyed hair mussed and sticking up, she stared defiantly up at the tribunal, her cuffed hands squeezed into fists. 

No. No. Sabine opened her mouth and tried to warn her younger self, but nothing came out. She could feel her throat and tongue working, her mouth shaping the words, but no sound came out.

“You were telling me to kill Mandalorians - people who have done nothing wrong! I checked, they weren’t even part of the protests!” There were tears in her younger self’s eyes. “I won’t do it! I won’t kill innocent people!” 

She turned her head, and Sabine’s throat closed. This part. This was the part —

“You know that this is wrong!” her younger self said to the House Heads. “These are your people! You have to stop them!”

Her younger self’s words echoed in air and Sabine clenched her teeth together, bowing her head. This part —

The echoes faded, only to be replaced by silence. Not even the dying people outside were screaming anymore.

The younger her was breathing shakily, staring at the men and women that were supposed to represent the best of Mandalore. She had laid out her heart and her beliefs, spoken out against the Empire.

When Sabine was young, she had played games where she was a great war chief, leading her people into battle with an inspiring speech. In all of those games, she had always imagined that her voice would boom. That people would respond to her words, would rally to her cause.

But now, when she had tried to speak out, tried to prod her fellow Mandalorians to fight, her voice didn’t boom. No one cheered or rallied to her. All she was met with was silence.

Sabine shut her burning eyes and tried to breathe.

* * *

Ezra’s head ached as he opened his eyes. 

Where was he? He was lying on his side, with cold, smooth stone underneath his scarred cheekbone. His arms were stretched out in front of him. His head was aching, like it had been inflated and then deflated.

Groaning softly, he slowly rolled onto his back, the pain in his head thankfully staying consistent rather than spiking. He still squeezed his eyes shut as he did so, reaching up to scrub at his face. The last time he’d felt like this was when he was still on Lothal, trying to sleep off his first encounter with alcohol. 

Well, maybe not quite that bad. He could still string together a thought, after all. 

Damn it, what had happened? Sabine, she’d found him — she was getting him out — he hadn’t been feeling well, the alarms had been going off —

The figure.

Ezra’s eyes snapped open. That black figure had been in front of him, and then his memories cut off until he was waking up here.

Forcing himself up, Ezra looked around himself wildly, pushing the pain of his headache back. Where was he? And — he looked around again — where was Sabine?

Getting his feet underneath him, he stood up and brushed himself off. He was standing in some sort of circular room, the black walls lined with plinths that held various weapons. Some were blades, speckled with rust; others seemed to be blasters, impossibly old and strangely configured. The walls in between the plinths at first glance looked to be more murals, this time painted in different shades of black, but when Ezra walked closer to them, he realized that they were actually carvings. Swirling starfields and ships, some parts raised and others etched in, met his fingertips as he gently ran his hands over them.

These carvings were not like the murals in the compound. The angular shapes and distorted faces were softened, curved. Details were filled in where the murals were left in blocks of colours. If Ezra could compare to anything, the details were almost like some of the old Jedi art a couple of Knights had shown him and some other kids back on Yavin —

Oh crap. Yavin. The blue admiral.

The attack.

With the confusion of that voice helping him, the Grand Inquisitor’s attack, and Sabine’s rescue, the vision he’d had had completely slipped from his mind. His chest clenched as he remembered the blue alien’s words and their certainty. He had to find Sabine and get out of here!

Urgency now dancing in the back of his skull, Ezra looked around the room more carefully. He hadn’t thought about it, but now he realized that the light he had taken for granted was not coming from any wall sockets or the ceiling, but from the floor beneath him. Set into the black stone beneath him like a mosaic were tiny, glowing crystals. They swirled around his feet and led away from him like a galaxy in the sky, towards a point in the wall where the plinths were set further apart from each other.

Chewing on his lower lip, Ezra considered his options. He didn’t know how he’d gotten into this strange room. He didn’t know where Sabine was. There was going to be an attack on Yavin soon that no one knew was coming. 

He needed help. Closing his eyes, he tried to reach out to Kanan along their bond. He hadn’t been able to really try anything while with the Imperials, but if he could make contact now and at least warn them about the attack coming —

Nothing.

Ezra’s eyes snapped open, unseeing as he groped along his bond with Kanan. The golden rope that connected them — it wasn’t gone, or broken, he could tell that much at least — the best way he could describe it was that the rope just faded into the darkness around him. 

He could feel the rapid patter of his heart beating. What was this? It wasn’t Darkness around him, but he still couldn’t feel —

No. No, he wasn’t going to panic. Panicking was how he got into this situation. Breathing like Kanan had taught him, Ezra looked around himself again. 

Here and now, he was in a room that he didn’t remember entering. It was filled with plinths holding weapons. The path of glowing mosaics was still leading towards the space in the wall. The plinths suggested that he was somewhere Mandalorian, and he didn’t feel the Dark Side around him. He couldn’t feel Kanan, but his bond was still there.

Alright. Alright. Keeping his breathing steady, Ezra began to follow the stones towards the wall. If they were arranged like this, then surely they were headed towards a door, right?

Reaching the wall, Ezra reached out to feel it. Parts of the carvings here were smooth under his fingers, as if people had come here before him and run their fingers along the same places so often that all the roughness had been smoothed away. Ezra chewed on his lower lip, following the smoothness. If people had been here before, often enough to wear parts of the carvings away…

He felt the straight line of a door seam and nearly cried in relief. Slipping his fingernails into the seam, he tugged. The door, carved with intricate geometric shapes that blended together in the darkness, split down the middle, showing itself to be two doors and allowing him to get more of his fingers in.

The doors were stiff, groaning as he forced them open, but open they did. A gust of old, dusty air tickled his nose, making him sneeze.

Rubbing his nose, Ezra squinted and stepped into the new room. The path of stones lead in here for maybe a foot before scattering out to look more like a night sky. They still shed enough light for him to see some of the details of the room, though.

Like the previous room, this one was circular as well. It was much, much bigger though. The walls soared up above him, higher than the light could reach and covered in murals that were still jewel-toned despite the age that rolled off of them like some sort of mist. Ezra couldn’t make much sense of them; some seemed to be showing people dying, others showed forests, and some were starfields like the one underneath his feet. In some places, Ezra could have sworn that he could see the glitter of metal and precious stones, and the sheer size of the room itself seemed to speak to it being made or commissioned by someone with a lot of money. But the room itself was empty. There weren’t any of the treasures that the elaborateness of the place’s decorations had him expecting. Just what looked like an altar set against the wall opposite from him, with a set of steps leading up to a shadowed alcove.

For a lack of anything better to do, Ezra walked further into the room. It was cool, with the faint scent of smoke in the air like a candle had just been snuffed out. The murals on the walls seemed to glow brighter as he passed by, and out of the corners of his eyes Ezra could have sworn that some of them were moving. 

What was this place? How had ended up here? And where was Sabine?

Ahead of him, the altar loomed. The glowing mosaic stones swept around the black stone that it was made of, not quite touching. There was a small set of steep stairs leading up to it. As he came closer, Ezra saw the stubs of candles on them, surrounded by what looked like small, dried flowers. Pausing at the bottom step, he touched one of the flowers gently, only to have it crumble to dust underneath his finger.

Ezra shivered, rubbing his fingers together. Was this where the smell of smoke was coming from? How was that possible? The candles and the flowers here were clearly decades old, long gone cold and rotten.

Looking up the steps, he saw more candle stubs and flowers lining the steps. They led directly up to the alcove at the top.

Well, he wasn’t seeing any other possible ways out. Maybe there was a door at the top. 

The stones that had lit up at the bottom of the altar thankfully didn’t go out as he started climbing the steps. He probably would have tripped and broken his neck if they did. 

The small offerings became larger as he traveled further up the stairs. They lay thicker on the ground, too, like the ones that he’d seen below were only there because there was no room further up. Small bunches of flowers, of course, but also what looked like pieces of armour. A small, ancient blaster. A knife. A flute. Something that looked like it could double as a knife and a flute. And of course candles, burned down until they were puddles of wax. As he reached the top, the little offerings were so thick on the ground that there was barely room for him to walk. Ezra was forced to pick his way through them in a winding path, his eyes on his feet, until he finally reached a small patch in front of the alcove that was miraculously free from debris. He sighed with relief and looked up, peering into the shadows —

And screamed.

In the alcove, sitting on a pedestal, was a corpse.

Stumbling back, he tripped and fell down onto a pile of offerings. Dust flew up from crushed flowers and a knife skittered away and fell of the edge, clattering on the stone below. 

Shakily sitting up, Ezra pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart pound. He - he hadn’t been expecting that. A corpse. Though now, with his heatbeat echoing in his ears, he supposed that it made sense. This entire place, the murals and the trophies and the offerings — it kind of screamed that this was some sort of holy tomb for an important person. 

Slowly getting up, he brushed the worst of the dust off. A really important person. Hadn’t the Grand Inquisitor talked about someone like that? What was his name, Tahl, Dar — ?

A gleam of light caught his eye and he looked back over at the — shudder — dead body.

Sitting upright with its legs crossed, the body was dressed in some weird version of Mando armour and what looked a lot like Jedi robes. Black armor peeked out from underneath a set of what looked like black-dyed robes. Armoured hands rested on the body’s legs like the person had been meditating when the died. On one side of the body was a Mando helmet, black with a red visor. And on the other side —

“A holocron?”

Ezra crept closer again, his brow furrowing. He could recognize one of those anywhere now, having seen Kanan’s so many times. But what was one of them doing down here in what had to be some sort of Mando shrine?

It was glowing slightly, the light lower than the light coming from the glowing stones set in the floor. As Ezra reached towards it, though, the light brightened, and just as his fingers brushed against it he felt a pulse in the Force that could only be described as a heartbeat.

Ezra snatched his hand back, but it was too late. The holocron began to rise, its corners twisting and its pulsing beating along the Force.

* * *

In and out, nice and steady. In for four, out for four. Sabine’s nails were digging into her palms. In for four. Out for four.

Why was it always silence? Why didn’t her words reach them?

Cracking open her eyes, she didn’t look up. Her stomach was burning with bile from the memory. The silence that had followed the dying echoes of her speech. The way the House Heads had averted their eyes, the satisfied look on the judges’ faces. One person — if only one person had agreed with her —

“A passionate speech,” drawled a familiar voice.

Sabine’s head snapped up. No, no —

The tall, pale figure of the Grand Inquisitor stepped forward, a black-armoured shadow in the white hall of her court martial. “If misguided.” The floor of the throne room was tiled, usually polished until you could see your face in it and looking like it was made of one enormous piece of marble. Now though, there were visible cracks in it, letting smooth streams of red begin to seep out and start staining the white floor a deep, ruby red. “Such is the prerogative of youth, I believe.”

No. No, she wasn’t going to stay here, she wasn’t going to listen to this again!

The Grand Inquisitor took another step towards her and she ran.

Through the hall, past the faceless onlookers, her footsteps echoing through the air, she ran. Away, away, away, her mind cried, far away!

Her eyes were hot and she squeezed them shut. She could hear other people running after her, trying to catch her and drag her back -

The sound of screams hit her like a physical blow. Snapping her eyes open, Sabine realized that she was outside now. Outside, and in the middle of the worst of the Purges. 

People were being lined up against the red-stained walls of the Duchess’ plaza, moaning and crying as the bodies of their predecessors were dragged off. Carriers were rumbling as they drove in and out, dropping off supposed rebels to be processed before their executions. 

Except — she felt her eyes widen until the corners stung — except these weren’t just random citizens, like she remembered. No, she knew the faces of these prisoners.

Her veins felt like they were filled with ice water. There was her Uncle Parr, and her Auntie Lan, and her mother’s best friend, and clan artisan —

She tore her eyes away, but it was no use. Her eyes fell on another crowd. The man who had first taught her how to use a blaster was there, next to the man who’d taught her how to the play the bes’bev. She looked away from them and found her brother’s face in one of the piles of corpses that were being loaded up for disposal.

No. No. No. NO. 

She ran, but the screams followed her. 

_I tried_ , she screamed in her head, stumbling through the rubble and the bodies. She couldn’t stop the tears falling down her face or the way she was gasping for air. _I tried, I said my piece, I begged them to do something, and they didn’t say anything! I’m only one girl, I can’t do this by myself, I can’t save them all by myself! I can’t save people that don’t want to be saved!_

She tripped and fell, tearing her pants and skinning open the heels of her hands. Looking back, she moaned in despair as she saw what she had tripped over.

Her father, his eyes open and dulled by death, blood staining his front. His hands were still stained with paint the way they were the last time she’d seen him.

Scrabbling at the ground she didn’t care about the pain shooting up her arms. She wanted to get away, she needed to get away —

“Sabine!”

She was sobbing as she turned and saw the Ghost, hovering just a couple dozen feet away, the loading ramp down and with Kanan and Zeb standing on it with their hands outstretched. 

“We got Ezra!” Kanan yelled. “Now come on!”

Sabine didn’t question the fact that Ezra was on Mandalore during the Purge. She just scrambled to her feet and began to run, sobbing. The screaming was so loud now, drowning everything out and making her feel like the city would be shaken to pieces around her. She was running, running, running, the screaming inside and outside of her head, she couldn’t hear anything —

And then a child screamed.

She shouldn’t have been able to hear it. She shouldn’t have been able to pick it out of the chorus of terror rattling around the city. But she did. The Ghost was so close, but her feet were slowing down. Zeb was reaching towards her, but her head was turning, her eyes searching for the source of that scream.

There. Just a few feet away. She’d run past one of the roving firing squads. They were standing in a line, a young teenage girl cowering from them. She was cowering away from them, holding her hands up to ward away the blasts.

“Sabine!” Kanan yelled from behind her.

The firing squad’s hats were low on their heads, hiding their eyes as they clicked off the safeties on their blasters.

The girl was audibly sobbing.

Her father’s body was still on the ground, staring at her with empty eyes. All of the dead were staring at her with empty eyes.

 _I can’t save people that don’t want to be saved_ , Sabine repeated in her head.

“Please!” the girl begged, choking out sobs.

Sabine dug her nails into her raw palms. Yeah, she couldn’t save people that didn’t want to be saved, but this girl wasn’t one of them. 

Kanan and Zeb were still calling out for her as she began to run towards the crying girl. Sabine told herself that they wouldn’t mind her bringing on another person.

The firing squad was squinting down the barrels of their rifles. Sabine forced a little more speed from her exhausted legs. She wouldn’t let this one die, she wouldn’t! The firing squad were squeezing their triggers —

“NO!” Sabine screamed, seeing the flash at the tips of the barrels as the tibanna gas ignited. She leapt forward, in front of the girl, wrapping her arms around her and dragging her down as she waited for the burning pain of the shots to lance through her back.

But no pain came. She’d squeezed her eyes shut during the jump, and now cracked them open. There was no pain in her back — had she actually managed to outrun the bolts? She peered over her shoulder.

There was no firing squad, now. In fact — now that she was listening, there was no more screaming now either. It was as if a music player had abruptly shut off, leaving only the sound of the girl in her arms crying. Sabine looked down to see if the girl was hurt —

Only to see her younger self, looking up at her with tears in her eyes.

“What?” 

Sabine sat up and looked around wildly — the Ghost was gone too, and by the time she turned back to her younger self, they were gone as well. She was half-lying in a stone corridor with bleeding palms and a heartbeat that was still rapid enough for her to feel thrumming against her breastbone. 

“What?” Sabine breathed again. What had all of that been. Where were the others? She pushed herself to her feet and began to walk over to where she had last seen the Ghost, grit crunching underneath her boots. 

The Ghost had seemed so real. She had heard its familiar engines, seen the scratch on the loading ramp where Zeb had once dropped a crate. 

She stopped just a few feet away from where the ship had been. Not because she was reluctant to go to her family. No, she stopped because she was at the very edge of where the floor ended. Where the Ghost had been — there was nothing. Not even the tunnel floor. Just an enormous, dark pit. 

Above her, glowing crystals were embedded in the ceiling, casting enough light for her to see the floor by. Their light didn’t even seem to penetrate an inch into the gloom of the pit. After a moment of staring down into the darkness, she crouched and scrabbled in the dust of the tunnel. Picking up a loose pebble from the ground, Sabine tossed it into the pit.

It was a long time before she heard it hit the ground.

Sabine sucked in a long, shivering breath. If she had gone to the Ghost — if she had ignored her crying younger self — she would have died. She would have pitched headfirst into a pit where her body would have never been found, convinced that she was heading towards her rescue. Her hands trembled and she clasped them together tightly.

In for four, out for four, she told herself. Calm your breathing and focus. 

She didn’t have time to think her way through this mystery. She needed to find Ezra and get the hell out of here. She can’t think about what she saw —

“Can’t you?”


	16. Meet Tarre

“Can’t you?”

Sabine stiffened and whirled around at the sound of that deep, masculine voice. Who — ?

There was no one. Only the corridor, lit dimly by the crystals embedded in the ceiling above. She opened and closed her hands, restlessly squeezing them into fists. Her heart was still beating rapidly from everything that she’d seen. Had she just imagined that voice?

She stood in silence for a long minute, just listening to the harsh breaths whistling in and out of her lungs. Then she sucked in a particularly deep breath and let it out. She didn’t have time for this —

“You should make time.”

Kriff! Sabine whirled around again, looking for the owner of the voice, but again there was nothing. Just the pit that she’d nearly jumped into.

“A wound won’t close if you ignore it,” the voice continued, again from behind her. “Especially one that’s in your heart.”

Sabine gritted her teeth. “I have more important things to do,” she snapped to the empty air, ignoring how crazy she would have looked if anyone else was there with her. “I have to find Ezra and get the two of us out of here!”

“Really?” Despite the voice lacking any sort of body, she could feel that it was raising a metaphorical eyebrow. “All of that seemed to be pretty important to you just a few minutes ago.”

“Well it’s not,” Sabine said. Her nails were cutting into her palms. Damn, when had she lost her gloves? “It’s in the past. Everyone’s made their choices, and we’re living with them.”

“Is it really a choice, though, when you have a blaster at your head?”

Sabine scowled, remembering the stiff, distant figures of the House Heads. “No one was pointing a blaster at them.”

The voice sighed. “Metaphorically, I mean.”

Okay, no. Her face was stiff with dried tears and her stomach hurt from the tension of going through all of that again. She was not going to be lectured by a disembodied voice about what happened during the purges. Straightening her back again, she lifted her chin and glared into the shadows that surrounded her. “If you have the guts to be chiding me on how I managed things, then how about you get the guts to show yourself? I’m not going to keep being lectured by some disembodied voice —”

The voice chuckled, cutting her off. “You have courage, making demands after having you soul bared. That’s good.” The voice shifted into a more thoughtful tone, once again behind her. “Very well, then. I suppose that I have been being rather rude.”

Sabine slowly turned one final time and stared.

A tall, human man stood just a couple of steps away from her, his skin glowing with the same soft light as the crystals above her. He was wearing traditional Mandalorian armour, painted the black of the Void, but over it was a long, flowing grey cloak that was pinned in place over his right shoulder. A belt hung at his hip, but the loops meant to hold weapons dangled empty except for the hilt of a bladeless sword. His strong jaw was barely hidden by the thick, neatly-trimmed beard that lined it and his hair was pulled back from his face and braided into a topknot that was held in place with a black hairtie. His eyes, however — his eyes were black pits, studded with stars.

Sabine couldn’t breathe. She knew who this was, even with his starry eyes. Especially with his starry eyes. She’d seen him in countless works of art, in plays, in history books and holos and bedtime stories of brave Mandalorian warriors and the Ka’ra —

Tarre Viszla, the Last Mand’alor, smiled softly at her despite being dead for a thousand years. The shadows in the hollow of his throat sparkled with stars like his eyes did. “I hope you’re not disappointed.”

“…Oh stars, I’m hallucinating again,” Sabine stammered, taking a step back. “I hit my head, or — or there’s some sort of gas in here, I’m hallucinating —”

Tarre Viszla, the first and only Mandalorian Jedi, chuckled again, his eyes literally twinkling. “No, this part of events, at least, isn’t a hallucination. Call me Tarre.”

Looking back later, Sabine would be very embarrassed by the noise she made. It was like she had temporarily turned into a dying eopie. “This is impossible. Completely impossible.”

Tarre kriffing Viszla cocked his head to one side and stepped closer to her. “Why do you say that? Is it so hard to believe that the Force is capable of such things?”

Sabine shook her head so hard that her hair whipped against her cheeks. “No, no, no, Kanan would have mentioned something if this was possible, once you die you become part of the Force, end of story —”

Tarre Viszla, Mand’alor the Just, made a surprised noise. “Really? The Jedi have forgotten a great deal over time, then.” He shrugged. “No matter though. That’s not important right now.” He clapped his hands together. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Sabine’s brain spat out an error message. “Me? You need to talk to — no, no, that’s impossible,” she muttered to herself, looking around the empty tunnel wildly, “I can’t be here, talking to a ghost, I need to find Ezra —” Why would one of the greatest figures in Mandalorian history want to talk to her?

Tarre Viszla sighed again. “Your friend Ezra is fine,” he said gently, coming closer. “I made sure he ended up someplace safe in here.”

“You — made sure —” A thought snapped through her head and she narrowed her eyes at the ghost, a flame of anger flickering to life in her chest. She clung to it; anger was familiar, anger was safe. Anger made the ground stop spinning underneath her feet. “It was you that was in him!”

Tarre Viszla, no, Tarre held up his hands and nodded. “Yes, but in my defense, it was not with the intention of harming either of you. You were in trouble, and I needed to talk to you. This solved both of those problems.”

“So you just - what, possessed him and dragged him past an entire Imperial encampment?” Her chest was thrumming with anger. “You could have gotten him killed!”

Tarre’s mouth twisted. Reaching up, he scratched at his ghostly glowing beard with a black-armoured hand. “Like an anooba with a bone.” He shook his head, the twist of his mouth smoothing into an avuncular smile. “That’s not a bad thing, though, considering.”

Part of her giggled at the compliment. The vast majority, however, decided to stay angry. “The Empire disagrees,” she said coldly. 

The smile fled from his face, and he let his hand drop back down to his side. “Ah yes. The Empire.” His eyes narrowed as well. “That was actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Sabine pressed her lips together tightly. “You don’t like them either, then?”

Tarre crossed his arms and shifted his weight, meeting her gaze with his starry eyes. “Well, they have been trying to loot my tomb for the last five months so that they can steal the artifacts necessary to set their puppet up as the rightful ruler of the Mandalorian people. I think that that would make anyone a bit irritated with them.”

“Wait —” Sabine’s anger ebbed away slightly to make room for shock. “They’re looting — they think —”

Tarre’s upper lip curled. “My thoughts exactly.”

Looking down at the ground, things clicked together in her head rapidly. Reaching up, she tugged on her lower lip as thoughts screamed through her head. “Damn, damn — it must be part of the bombing plan, shore things up even further — but what artifact are they looking for, the Darksaber’s been lost ever since Maul —” She stiffened and looked up at Tarre. “The Mask of Mand’alor. That’s what they’re looking for.” Her fingers fluttered. “The bombing happens, and the Empire says that everyone needs to come together, and oh, by the way, Viceroy Saxon found one of the treasures of the Mandalorian people, isn’t that nice, isn’t he such a proper Mandalorian —”

Her throat felt tight with a mix of anger and sadness. The bombing was only one part of it. Cutting off the heads of any resistance and then presenting someone draped in reassuringly Mandalorian symbols for the people to cling to — it was such an Imperial plan, taking their culture and using it as a leash when it should be their wings. And the worst part of it was that she could see it working so very easily.

“You grasp your enemy’s goals quickly too. That’s good.” Sabine looked up and realized that Tarre had come closer while she was thinking aloud. He cocked his head to one side. “It’s a pity that you’re the only one with all of this information, though. If only someone could warn our people of these manipulations.”

Sabine was confused for a moment as to where he was going with that comment. Then the credit chit dropped.

“No. No no no,” she said, backing away from him, her lovely firm anger spinning away from her and leaving her on shaky ground. Had he not seen what she’d done to her own people? 

“I’m sorry,” Tarre said, his voice terribly gentle. He folded his hands in front of him in a way that Sabine recognized from the Jedi back on Yavin. “If there was anyone else, I would ask them. But our people need someone who is not afraid to speak the truth.”

Sabine shook her head, feeling her hair whip her cheeks again. She couldn’t — “Speaking the truth isn’t going to do any good if no one will listen.”

“How do you know that they won’t?”

Her chin wobbled. She looked down at the ground that looked firm to her eyes but felt shaky in her heart, her eyes burning as that awful memory of the silence that had swamped her in that trial rose up. “You had something to do with those visions, didn’t you? Can’t you figure it out?”

“I only brought you here,” Tarre said, his voice still quiet and gentle. “The nexus was what tested you.”

Sabine tipped her head back, willing the tears not to fall. She wasn’t going to cry here. Wildly, she groped for something to distract her and latched on to something that Tarre had said.

“The nexus?”

“Think of it as — a crucible. A place where the Force shines as brightly as any star and burns away the impurities of whatever passes through it.” The shimmering starlight of his figure came close, illuminating the scuffs on her boots. “I’ve known of the Empire’s plans for a while now, but I cannot manifest myself outside of places like this easily. I needed someone strong enough to bear up underneath this burden. This was the best place to test them.”

Sabine lunged for escape from his request with both hands. “A test? Those visions were a test?”

“Yes.” Cool starlight wrapped around her, radiating sorrow, and Sabine realized that the Last Mand’alor was hugging her. “And you passed.”

Her hands trembled at her sides. “What was I even being tested on, whether or not I collapsed under my own mistakes?”

The coolness warmed into something almost comforting, but still felt sad. It reminded her of the last time she had hugged her mother; of the feeling of snow falling on her and her brother’s head. Of lost, happy times.

“No,” Tarre said above her, his voice achingly sincere. “It was testing whether or not you were still willing to try to save your people after their betrayal.”

A lump grew in her throat. Her tears were just on the edge of falling, lining up like soldiers along her lashline. She reached up and tried to grasp at insubstantial cloth, swallowing convulsively like it would suck the tears back inside. “Of course I’d try to save them,” she said, her voice cracking. “How could I just stand by and let them die? Let the Empire slaughter them again?”

“Then why do you refuse to help them now?” Tarre asked gently.

And didn’t that just strike at the heart of it? Sabine’s chest ached with the effort of holding back her sobs. I tried, she thought. I really, really tried, I reached out, and they wouldn’t take my hand. “I tried to help before,” she croaked. “When I ran away, during the trial, I tried to tell people what was going on, that it was wrong, but no one —” She snapped her teeth together so hard that it hurt.

“Does that mean that they don’t deserve another chance?” he asked softly. “Does that mean that they deserve to be enslaved or killed?”

Her whole body was trembling now. “No,” she said, unable to stop the tears that were beginning to fall freely down her face now. “No, they don’t deserve to die, to be slaughtered, but —”

“But?”

“I can’t,” she gasped, the words she’d kept in a secret part of her heart now spilling out as uncontrollably as the tears streaking down her cheeks. She scrubbed uselessly at her face with a hand, breathing shakily. “I can’t keep setting myself on fire to keep other people warm. I can’t keep trying to help people that don’t seem to want to be helped.” Encircled in starlight, she looked up into Tarre’s eyes, blinking away tears. “I can’t do this alone.”

He placed a hand that felt like a cool night breeze on top of her head. “You won’t be alone this time,” he said, and oddly enough Sabine believed him. 

She still disagreed out of principle. “Why this time?” she asked, wiping her cheeks some more. “Why not before?”

“Because this time, your family is with you,” he said simply. He ran a palm of starlight along her hair, like her father had used to do. Like Kanan sometimes did, when her nightmares were especially bad.

Kanan. Hera. Zeb and Ezra, even Chopper. Tarre was right, she thought as tears continued to run down her cheeks. Her family was here with her this time. She wouldn’t be shouting the truth on her own, being drowned in the silence that surrounded her. 

When Tarre stepped back after several minutes, she didn’t sway in place. She stood strong, with her back straight and chin up. A smile played at his lips as he looked at her, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the stars within whirled.

“Right,” she said, her voice rough from crying but even. “I’ll do it. I’ll warn the Great Houses. But first —” She raised her chin a little higher, looking him in the eye. “First, you’re going to take me to Ezra.”

* * *

“No no no no no —” Ezra chanted, backing away from the holocron.

The holocron ignored him. Rising up from where it had been sitting, the metal corners of the cube continued to twist one by one with a slow steady clicking noise. Between the metal corners, a soft blue light spilled through the patterned glass of the holocron’s walls, casting strange and twisting shadows as it spilled over the crowded platform. There was a low hum emanating from it, one that was only growing louder as each corner finished twisting. 

Ezra knew that the holocron was just opening, but considering everything that had been happening, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be around when it finished. Looking around wildly, he noted that at least the holocron’s light was making it easier to see around the tomb he was in.

The walls that he had only briefly looked on his way in turned out to be even more richly coloured than he had thought. So lovingly shaded and outlined, several of the figures portrayed looked ready to jump right off of the wall. Forests that he had glimpsed looked like the leaves would rustle if a breeze somehow managed to get this far into the mountain. The gold that he had thought he’d seen glimmering in the darkness proved to be real after all, outlining stars that a ship was gracefully sailing through, chased by several others that looked almost Imperial in how they were shaped.

Beautiful as everything was, though, Ezra couldn’t see any other doors other than the one that he’d come in from. Gritting his teeth, he looked at the holocron again. It was on the second to last corner, placidly twisting itself. The hum was very loud now, and with an odd reverb to it that he could feel in his chest. 

Kriff it. He wasn’t sure if it would protect him from whatever the holocron was doing, but at least the other room didn’t have a corpse in it. Ezra turned and began to hurry through the offerings, no longer caring about avoiding them. Dust from the ancient flowers billowed up around his legs, coating his pants, and the clatter and rasp of the various pieces of metal scraping against the stone almost drowned out the holocron’s hum as he began to hurry down the stairs.

As his boots clomped down the stairs, though — the humming stopped. Halfway down to the floor, Ezra slowed, throwing a glance behind him nervously. 

_**SHOOM** _

Light, so bright it was like he was staring into a sun, slammed into his eyes. Shouting, Ezra clapped his hands to his face and stumbled, his foot slipping on a step. Unbalanced, he fell onto his butt and began to slide down the rest of the steps, each one jolting him hard enough for a pain to shoot up his back until with a final thump he hit the ground, gasping.

The humming was back. This time, though, it was lower and gentler, without the odd reverb to it. His tailbone aching, Ezra cracked open an eye and peered through his fingers. Dark spots darted across his vision, but the light had lessened enough that he could comfortably see.

He was sitting in the middle of a galaxy. Above and all around him, holographic stars and planets slowly spun in their orbits, their names and coordinates in archaic-looking Basic floating above them. 

“What the?” Ezra whispered to himself, slowly and painfully pulling himself to his feet. His tailbone throbbed, but he ignored it. He’d expected a lot of things from the holocron; a message, a set of saber lessons, even it blowing up, but a map?

On his feet, he realized that the map was huge. Not just of one sector like most maps he knew, this one stretched the length of the whole room, lighting it up like it was midday on Lothal. Stepping closer to one of the planets, he peered closely at the name that floated above it. 

‘Taris’.

Ezra’s eyes widened. He’d heard of that planet before — one of the bigwigs in the Resistance was the former senator of it, a dark-skinned human lady. She’d talked a few times with Ezra while he was recovering after the raid. 

Turning his head, he walked over to another planet. ‘Ord Mantell’. Deeper into the map — ‘Carida’. 

‘Alderaan’. 

‘Coruscant’!

Ezra stopped for a moment at the last one, realizing what this map was. It wasn’t just a map of one sector, or even several — it was a full galaxy map! He’d never seen one this detailed before, not even in the Archive back home. For a wild second, he turned on his heel, wanting to find Lothal, but then something out of the corner of his eye made him stop. 

Coruscant was supposed to be the middle of the galaxy. The way that this map seemed to be set up, however — he was nowhere near the middle of the room. But the map was definitely filling the whole room, and he could see several more planets nearby.

When he had still gone to school, he’d been taught galactic geography along with the rest of his classmates. He knew the various regions of the galaxy; the Outer Rim, where Lothal was. Mid-Rim. Inner Rim. The Colonies. The Expansion Region. And of course, the Core.

Even as a kid though, he had been fascinated by the last region of the galaxy. The one that his Imperial-hired teacher had been irritated by his questions about. The Deep Core.

A mysterious part of space, almost as mysterious as Wild Space itself, the Deep Core was the part of the map that was the true, astronomical center of the galaxy. The Core proper was a ring of planets around it that supposedly had been occupied the longest out of all the galaxy — and yet, on every map that Ezra had seen, the Deep Core had been entirely blank. Not so much as a hyperspace route marked as going through it.

Here though, on this map, the Deep Core wasn’t empty. Planets orbited stars in it, just like in every other part of the map. Stepping closer, Ezra squinted at the names floating above.

‘Jerrilek’.

‘Empress Teta’.

‘Tython’.

Something twanged in the force like a string on a musical instrument; a strange, pleasant note that he felt more than heard, matching the humming coming from the holocron. Pausing at the last planet he’d looked at, the feeling only increased. 

Tython. He’d never heard of that planet. Of course, he hadn’t heard of any of these planets before, but something about this planet’s name — he had the strangest feeling, like he should know this planet and it was wrong that he didn’t, that someone or something had taken —

The Force twanged again, and he reached out towards the hologram of the planet. 

The map seemed to shudder, and then blurred, lights winking out as the marble-sized planet expanded rapidly, making Ezra back up in alarm. Had he broken the holocron? 

But no, the holo of the planet stopped expanding once it was as tall as him, showing more details of its surface. Ezra saw a large continent of forests and mountains and plains, surrounded by a blue sea. Beside the planet, a box popped up with the name and more information in it. The language it used was weird, though; a really old-fashioned Basic, full of weird words that Ezra had only seen before in some of the old books his Dad liked and parts of the Rah-to scrolls that had hung in his office. 

The language wasn’t so old that Ezra couldn’t pick out the word ‘Jedi’, though. 

Reaching out, he tried to touch the box, the humming twanging noise now constant in his head, matching the beat of his heart. What was it saying about the Jedi? 

Before he could start trying to decipher the old-fashioned language, though, there was a loud grinding noise like stone on stone. His head whipped around as the humming in the Force stopped, suddenly aware of where he was. Had the Empire found him? He still didn’t actually know where he was — stupid, stupid! How could he let his guard down, get distracted?

“Ezra!”

The fear that had been jumping up his spine like lightning calmed as he recognized that voice. He couldn’t keep tears of relief from springing to his eyes. “Sabine!”

She looked like hell, but Ezra was so glad to see her that he didn’t care. Forgetting the hologram, forgetting the holocron, he rushed through the projected light towards the girl and wrapped his arms around her midsection, squeezing her tight. She returned the favour, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing her cheek against the top of his head. 

“Stars, I was so worried,” she breathed above him. “You just ran in here —”

“I’m sorry,” Ezra said, squeezing his eyes shut and feeling a little liquid trickle from them. “I don’t — we were trying to escape, but there was this weird shadow in the corner of my eye and then it was in front of me —”

Someone cleared their throat.

Ezra’s eyes snapped open. Pulling back, he looked around wildly. His heart, which had been starting to calm down from the surprise of the door opening suddenly, started hammering in his chest again.

The room was still dominated by the blown-up holo of Tython, the rest of the map receded into the background. The light was still casting odd shadows on the massive altar and the walls, the dark shadow was still standing by the stairs to the altar —

Wait.

Ezra dug his fingers into Sabine’s arm. “Sabine,” he hissed, “that shadow —”

“My name is Tarre, young padawan,” the dark figure interrupted, sounding amused. Something in the darkness glittered, and the shadow sharpened, becoming more clearly humanoid. 

Like someone standing in the shadows of an alleyway, Ezra could see the rough lines of light sketching out the hints of features; high cheekbones that lead to a beard, the edges of which shifted smoothly into a head of hair that was severely pulled back into a topknot. As the figure stepped forward, the lines below its neck loosened, suggesting a cape wrapped around broad shoulders. Underneath the cape was a void of black, just barely picking up enough light to suggest the hard lines of the armour plates that he’d seen Sabine wearing for almost as long as he had known her. Ezra couldn’t keep from shuddering, though, as the shadow came closer and he saw its eyes. Or rather, its lack of; instead of the eyeballs that he expected, there were only starry voids.

The being smiled at them, its starry eyes literally twinkling. “Though I don’t blame you for your words. I must have given you quite a fright up there.”

Ezra swallowed. “Yeah, I can’t lie, suddenly having my body hijacked against my will by some weird thing was pretty freaky,” he said, automatically defaulting to sarcasm to cover up his fear. What the hell was this thing, and how had it managed to take him over? Could it be that presence in the Force that had been speaking to him?

The thing, Tarre or whatever, bowed its head. “My apologies. With what that creature had done to you, I was not sure that you would otherwise be able to get down here. That is the only reason why I took you over directly, I assure you.”

Ezra pressed his lips together tightly, watching the thing’s face closely for signs of lying. “Where is here, anyways?”

“It’s Tarre Viszla’s tomb,” Sabine said unexpectedly from above him. Ezra looked up at her and was surprised by how relaxed she looked. With how she usually was with new people, he’d thought that she’d be just as suspicious as he was. But she looked as relaxed as if they were back on the Ghost.

Sabine looked down at him and the corners of her mouth lifted up. “Tarre Viszla was the last Mand’alor of Mandalore,” she explained. “He — I don’t know, it’s hard to explain to aruetii.” Her eyes skittered around the room, drinking in the details of the wall paintings greedily. “He’s a good guy, though. The first Mandalorian Jedi.”

Ezra’s head whipped around fast enough that he felt it give a crick. “A Jedi?” So he had been right about what he was feeling up there?

The shadow — Tarre smiled at them, and this time Ezra believed the kindness in its corners. Stepping closer to them, he reached up and dragged his fingers through the holo of Tython, his expression shifting to something nostalgic and just a little bit sad. “I was considered a Jedi Knight by the time I was acclaimed as Mand’alor,” he said quietly. “A Master by the time the war ended.” His fingers curled into a fist and fell back to his side. “Afterwards, though…”

“…Afterwards?” Ezra asked.

Tarre didn’t look at him for a long, long moment. “War changes us all,” he finally said, bowing his head. “Not even the Jedi are immune to such things. But that’s not why I called you and Sabine down here.” He looked back up, and the stars had — receded, in his eyes, leaving a void of black. “This Empire — it’s trying to loot my tomb so that it can justify its control after murdering the Heads of the Great Houses.”

Ezra blinked and looked to Sabine. “Uh…”

“It’s a long story, but basically if you took out the Heads of the Houses, pretty much any organized resistance to Imperial rule would die with them,” Sabine explained, tucking a hair behind her ear. “Without them, the Empire can get away with looting this tomb and use the artifacts within to gain control over the populace.”

“What, like, are we talking mind control, or just controlling information?” Ezra’s gaze bounced between Sabine and Tarre. “Because if it’s just controlling information, I’m not sure how that’s any different from what they’re doing now?”

Sabine shook her head. “No, not like that —” She stopped and grunted in frustration. “While I was trying to find you, I overheard some Imperials talking,” she explained. “You remember the political summit that’s supposed to be taking place?”

Ezra nodded.

“It’s not an actual summit. It’s just an excuse to get all the Heads in one place so they can be wiped out in a single attack.”

“What? How?”

“A bomb.” Sabine’s face was looking pinched again. “The plan is to blame the Resistance for it, use it as an excuse for the Viceroy to increase his control.”

“Okay, but what does this whole tomb-raiding thing —” A memory swam up. “Wait. The Grand Inquisitor — he talked to me about this. He said that the Viceroy needed to ‘drape himself in the trappings of a distant ancestor’ because he had the charisma ‘of a wet sack of grain’.” He looked back over at Tarre. “He also said that you were really important to the Mandalorians.”

Sabine grimaced. “That’s putting it mildly. For a lot of Mandalorians, he was the last legitimate ruler of Mandalore. If Saxon gets his hands on some of the artifacts in here, as far as a good chunk of the population is concerned that will make him the rightful ruler of Mandalore.”

“…Kriff.” Ezra could see it now; no leaders to spearhead resistance, along with someone looking like some fondly-remembered leader? Yeah, Mandalore would be an Imperial stronghold after that.

“Thus, why I needed to two of you down here.” Tarre’s voice was solemn. He was standing very straight, his chin high and shoulders squared underneath his cape. “I’ve been holding back this Empire for quite some time, but I am reaching my limit of what I can do. Outside of this place, my voice is no longer heard. I cannot warn my people of the danger that they are in.”

“So — what? You want us to send out a message on our way back to the Ghost?” Ezra asked.

“Ezra…” Sabine said quietly.

Ezra looked back at her. “Sabine?” he asked.

Sabine was not quite looking at him. “I talked to Tarre,” she said, her voice steady. “He says that there are passageways all through the city. He says that he can stretch himself enough to guide you back to the ship.”

“Guide — me, back to the ship,” Ezra said slowly, his stomach doing a slow flip. “What about you?” 

Sabine took in a deep breath and let it out. Letting go of him, she took a step back and squared her shoulders. “The only place with the communications equipment necessary to contact all of the Houses at once is in the city’s Imperial compound,” she began.

“No. No,” Ezra said, seeing where this was going. “No, Sabine, you are not going off on your own.”

“There’s no time to go back to the Ghost.” Sabine’s voice was soft but firm. “I don’t know when the bomb is going to go off.”

“No, Sabine,” Ezra said, trying to find a reason for her to stay. “Sabine — there’s another plot going on as well,” he said, grabbing a hold of the memory he’d found in the Grand Inquisitor’s mind. “The Grand Inquisitor tried to get in my head while he had me. While he was doing that, I got a good look at his head as well. Sabine,” he took a deep breath, “there’s going to be an attack on the Resistance soon as well. There’s this blue-skinned Admiral, he’s figured out where we’re based —”

Sabine’s eyes widened. Then her face became stony. “All the more reason for you to hurry back to the Ghost,” she said firmly. “In the meantime —”

“Sabine!” Ezra snapped. “You’re talking about walking into the main Imperial base on this moon!”

“I know!” Sabine shouted. 

Ezra flinched back. The shout echoed against the wall, a chorus of _I know I know I know_ falling on his ears like blows.

Sabine’s hands were curled into trembling fists at her sides, and for the first time since she had run in Ezra saw how red and swollen her eyes were. 

“I know,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I know that the Resistance needs to be warned. I know that I’m basically walking alone into a star dragon’s mouth. But I can’t — I can’t let another purge happen. Not when I know I have a chance of stopping it.”

“Sabine…”

“I’ve got a comm,” Sabine said, still not looking at him. “If I can, I’ll keep in contact, ask for an extract after I’m done. If not, though…” She hesitated.

“Sabine, listen to me,” Ezra pleaded. “Please, at least come back and tell Hera and Kanan yourself. They can help us plan —”

But Sabine was shaking her head. “There’s no time,” she insisted stubbornly. “The bomb could go off at any minute.”

Ezra clenched his fists helplessly, his nails biting into his palms. 

“Children,” Tarre said quietly.

“What?” Ezra snapped, his chest tight with anger and frustration. 

The look on Tarre’s face only made it worse. He looked so understanding, like he knew what the two of them were going though. Well, he didn’t, Ezra thought nastily. He had no clue what it felt like to have someone determined to walk to their deaths.

“If you two have made up your minds,” he said, his tone as soft and understanding as his expression, “I have just a few more things to ask of you.”

Ezra fumed. Really? After this, he was asking for even more?

Turning, the shadow man gestured towards the stairs to the altar. “If you’ll follow me?”

As they walked up, Ezra took a certain spiteful pleasure in shuffling his feet through the offerings where before he tried to avoid them. Sabine’s face was tight as he did so, but he didn’t care. He shouldn’t care. 

Tarre didn’t walk up the steps. He just — appeared at the top, standing by what Ezra now figured was his body. He was staring at it, his face solemn. As they reached the top, he reached out without looking and placed a hand on top of the holocron, which had still been glowing and projecting the map all this time. It cut out like a snuffed candle flame, leaving the two of them in darkness except for the glowing stones down below that now seemed so much dimmer.

“Nice going,” Ezra snarked bitterly, blinking and widening his eyes in a useless attempt to see through the darkness.

Tarre inclined his head. For some reason, it was still easy to see him; the details of his body that Ezra’d seen before seemed to glow, like he was made of starlight and shadows spun together. “My apologies.” Turning back to his body with a distant expression, he gestured to the alcove. “There is a door behind here. It will lead us to the tunnels.” His hand fluttered and laid down on the holocron that had fallen back down to the altar. “Before you go, though…”

He turned to Sabine and gestured towards the helmet that lay on the other side of the corpse. “Take it.”

Sabine sucked in a breath. “What? That’s —”

“I know.” Tarre’s voice was stern. “This Empire is persistent, though. I can’t keep them out forever.”

“I’m going straight into their mouth, though,” Sabine said, sounding worried. She glanced over at Ezra. “Maybe Ezra should take it?”

Tarre shook his head. “He will have his own burden,” he said quietly. “This one is yours. Besides,” he flashed a wan smile at them both, “perhaps you will find it useful in the future. Armour is meant to protect, after all, and it has nothing to protect down here.”

Neither of them laughed. Ezra crossed his arms as Sabine reverently picked the helmet up, cradling it close. Tarre’s smile became something more real as he looked at her. “Go ahead. Put it on. It should still work.”

Sabine stared at him. “Still work — it’s at least a thousand years old!”

Ezra scowled as Tarre flat-out grinned. “I made things to last.”

Sabine looked back down, and Ezra cleared his throat. “A-hem.”

Tarre’s grin lessened back down to a smile as he turned his head towards Ezra. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten you.” Shifting, he moved to the side and patted the holocron. “This is for you.”

Ezra pressed his lips together and eyed the holocron suspiciously. “It’s not going to turn on again when I touch it, is it?” he asked. 

Tarre chuckled, making him bristle. “No,” the man said. “Consider that…a preview, if anything.” His smile faded as he turned back to it, passing a hand over it. “The Jedi have forgotten much,” he murmured. “I think it is time they start remembering.”

Okay. Ezra eyed him suspiciously for a moment before snatching the holocron up and shoving it into his jumpsuit, ignoring the disapproving noise that Sabine made. Tarre raised an eyebrow at him, but otherwise didn’t comment. “Right, cool, now how do we get out of here again?”

“Ezra…”

Tarre ignored his tone and gestured to the alcove that the corpse was sitting in. “Behind me,” he said. “The back of the alcove is false; it’s tilted, so you can slip into the passage behind. I’ll do my best to guide you both.”

“Thank you,” Sabine said graciously. Ezra just grunted. 

Tarre didn’t react to his rudeness, only bowing his head. “May the Force be with you both.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy, lots of talking going on. Hopefully, everyone's characterization is ringing true - let me know in the comments!
> 
> Oh, and before anyone asks, yes, Ezra and Sabine are seeing Tarre somewhat differently. The way I see it, in Force-strong areas, a person's expectations and the way they conceptualize things matters a lot. Both Tarre and Sabine have a similar idea of how a Force Ghost/Ka'ra would look, so they both see each other clearly. Ezra, who has no clue what the heck is going on or really who Tarre is, only sees bits and pieces of what Tarre can project.


	17. Out of the Tunnels But Not Out of Trouble

The tunnels were surprisingly dry and roomy. The way Ezra had always imagine it in the stories, secret escape tunnels were cramped and damp, the heroes having to squeeze through them. These ones were relatively well-lit as well, the glowing stones that had been everywhere in Tarre Viszla’s tomb stretching out here as well, set into the roof and sides.

 _Left here_ , Tarre’s voice murmured in his head. He hadn’t been kidding about being unable to manifest outside of his tomb; as soon as they had slipped through the alcove, he was just a voice in their head, low and oddly comforting.

Ezra grunted angrily at himself. No! Not comforting! 

“You okay?” Sabine asked. Looking at her in the dim light, he could see the worry etched into her face. 

Ezra’s stomach flopped and he looked away. “It’s fine,” he said. There’s nothing I can do to change it, anyways, he added internally. Sabine was walking into an incredibly dangerous situation by herself, and he couldn’t change her mind. Maybe if the Grand Inquisitor hadn’t tore through his head earlier and then backhanded him hard enough to make his ears ring he could have, but nothing was coming to mind now. He hated it. That stupid ghost-person-thing had totally convinced her that she had to run to near-certain death, and there wasn’t a damn thing Ezra could do about it.

Gravel crunched underneath his feet as they came up to a split in the tunnel. Both tunnels from here seemed to stretch on forever as Ezra peered down them, the holocron heavy in his jumpsuit.

That was another thing that annoyed him. Dumping all that stuff about saving her people, and then having the gall to ask them to take some old heavy crud with them? Out of the corner of his eye, Ezra shot a baleful gaze at the helmet wrapped in the Imperial uniform coat that was hanging from Sabine’s belt. The stupid thing had bounced with every step and kept whacking his knuckles as they jogged down the tunnels.

 _I’m afraid that here is where you must go your separate ways_ , Tarre murmured, like he was whispering in Ezra’s ear. 

Ezra pressed his lips together.

Beside him, Sabine tilted her chin up and looked into the air, cocking her head to one side. “You’ll get Ezra home, right?” she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

_Of course._

Ezra pressed his lips together even tighter. Sabine’s worried glance burned against the side of his scarred face.

“Alright then,” she said, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Tell Hera and Kanan —”

Ezra broke. No, no, this sounded too much like she was reading a will! The gravel on the tunnel floor crunched underneath his heel as he whirled and launched himself at Sabine, trapping her in a hug.

She grunted as he hit her. “Ezra! What —”

Ezra just squeezed her close, his eyes burning. “Tell them yourself,” he begged. “Don’t make me tell them; come back to the Ghost and tell them your message yourself.”

“Ezra…”

He felt her arms wrap around his shoulders like they had back in the tomb, squeezing him tightly. “I’m sorry Ezra, but I need to do this.”

“Who says that? You don’t have to do anything,” Ezra replied, pressing his cheek against her collarbones and ignoring how the holocron dug into his chest. “No one would every know!”

“I’d know,” Sabine said simply, her arms loosening from around him. Gently untangling herself from him, she took a step back. Ezra couldn’t keep a tear from falling down his cheek and wiped at it roughly, his throat tight. “I’d know that I let them die when I could have stopped it.”

Ezra swallowed painfully. “Please — just promise — promise you’ll come back.”

“I will,” Sabine said.

Ezra didn’t believe her. She was backing away now, though, disappearing into the gloom of her tunnel and leaving him alone.

“I will be back,” she promised. “I will!”

Liar, Ezra thought. He swiped a hand over his eyes again. 

_I’m afraid that we cannot stay here_ , Tarre’s voice said after a moment of him scrubbing his face. 

“I know!” Ezra snapped. His emotions were roiling like a pot of boiling water. “Just — just get me back home, okay?”

 _As you wish_ , Tarre said, his voice clearly and carefully neutral. It made Ezra hate him that much more.

Several more tunnels passed by in a haze as Ezra struggled to get his emotions back under control. He and Sabine hadn’t started out on the best of terms; heck, she had held him at blasterpoint! But after Dromund Kaas, after the Seventh Sister and his leg — they’d found a common point of understanding. As he had struggled to get used to his new leg, she’d been there with tips on how to handle the pain that was the result of the necessary physical therapy. She’d told him stories about the other warriors in her family and how they dealt with missing limbs and other permanent injuries, and how some of them could even paint symbols on their armour that told the people around them to be patient with them. 

He wanted to believe her when she said that she’d come back. He wanted to hear more about how Mandalorians painted their armour and the meaning behind it. Bitter experience, however, had his gut clenching and twisting.

 _Stop_ , Tarre murmured in his head.

Ezra slowed, wiping at his face. He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He hadn’t even realized that he’d started running. 

In the side of the tunnel, just a few meters behind him, was the outline of a door. Light was seeping in through the crack at the bottom, the dim white of institutional lighting.

 _This should be the old part of the spaceport_ , Tarre continued. _It opens into a lesser-used part of it; even during my time it was rare to find someone over here. You should be okay to go out._

Like Ezra was going to trust his word. Ignoring the quiet sigh that echoed in the back of his head, he pressed his ear against the door and listened intently. 

He heard the distant sound of comm announcements and starship engines warming up, but no sound of footsteps or speeders. Fumbling at the edges of the doorway, he felt for a switch or something to open the door.

 _There is no switch_ , Tarre murmured. _Use the Force._

Ezra bit the inside of his cheek. Of course. “Is Sabine going to have to use the Force as well to get out of here?” he asked mulishly.

 _Her door is different_ , Tarre explained patiently. It was annoying, how little of anything seemed to get to the guy. Maybe it was because he’d been dead for like a thousand years, but nothing Ezra did seemed to get to the guy. Or maybe it was because he was supposed to be a Jedi. Either way, Ezra had already been sick of it back in the tomb. 

He still had stuff to do though, so he allowed himself one more grumpy grunt and then stepped back from the door, holding his hand out towards it. Smoothing out his breathing, he kicked his irritation into a corner of his mind where he could ignore it. 

Feel the Force, he thought to himself in an internal voice that sounded a lot like Kanan. Reach out and feel for the door. Feel for its lock. You’ve opened plenty of locks before, and this one is no different.

Quickly, he could feel the knot in the Force that was the lock. It radiated with age, like the taste of dust on the back of his tongue, but its shape was far from intimidating. It reminded Ezra of nothing more than the first few locks he had practiced on, when he began to outgrow his cute stage and couldn’t rely on begging anymore. A little twist, a shake —

The door clicked and began to slowly open with staggered, rasping movements. Opening his eyes, Ezra didn’t wait until it had fully opened before ducking under the door and stepping into a dimly-lit storage room.

Blinking his eyes rapidly, Ezra rubbed at them again. Dim as the light was, it was still brighter than the tunnels and it made his eyeballs sting a little. Bright spots flashed against the insides of his eyelids and as he blinked them away, he took a look around the room.

His first instinct was right. It was definitely a storage room. Boxes and crates stood in towers and sat on shelves, grey and bland with strings of codes painted near the corners. Glancing over them, Ezra could make out the Imperial codes for things like worker jumpsuits and roundhead rations from several years back. He could see the door that would lead further into the spaceport through the shelves, blank and with a dim light over it.

Stepping into the room, he glanced behind him to see the door he came through beginning to close with the same rasping clunks that it had opened with. Once it was closed, Ezra raised an eyebrow. Loud or no, it certainly blended into the wall well. 

Turning back around, Ezra took a breath.

Alright. He was in the spaceport. Now he just had to get to the Ghost. Going over to the door, he listened like he had in the tunnel. Again, all he heard was the echoes of engines and announcements.

He took a step back from the door and chewed on his lip for a moment, looking down at his clothes. He’d been kept in his jumpsuit even while in Imperial custody, but after everything that had happened, it was smelling a bit ripe. Normally in a spaceport that wasn’t a problem; people who were traveling often forgot to put on deodorant. But — with how security had been coming down to the meeting place for the shipment, Ezra wasn’t sure how much he wanted to stand out. And while he wasn’t sure, it was possible that a description of him had already been sent out by the Empire. They didn’t know about the tunnels, but all of his experience with Imperials said that it didn’t hurt to be cautious.   
So — 

Ezra turned back to the crates on the shelves. There had been one for Imperial worker uniforms. He could switch his jumpsuit for one of them. 

Once he was suited up and had stuffed his nasty jumpsuit into the crate, he looked around for a hovercart. People would be less likely to stop him if he looked like he was working. The jumpsuit rasped oddly against the seam where his replacement leg was attached to his stump, making him very aware of it. He wiped his hands down the front of his jumpsuit, noting distantly that they were damp. 

There. A hovercart, already loaded up with crate. Nice and big, too. Ezra scurried over to it and disengaged the locks. 

Tarre hadn’t been kidding about this part of the spaceport being rarely used. As he walked out, Ezra tugged his workers cap lower over his face, scanning the empty hallway. Old, ragged posters of what looked like pre-Empire ads layered the walls, so torn-up and faded with age that he couldn’t even begin to tell what they were supposed to be selling. Dust was thick in the corners where the wall met the floor, but a clear path could be seen down the middle of the hallway, showing that while distant, this part was still in use.

Carefully, carefully, keeping his head low and steps steady, he followed the signs pointing him towards the newer part of the spaceport. Not the newest part; that was apparently reserved for the visiting Mandalorian dignitaries, but definitely younger than the part that he was currently in. People began to slowly appear, crossing his path or passing him. None of them paid him any attention, just as he wanted, either focused on a datapad or the signs leading them somewhere else.

All was well with his plan so far. Except, of course, that all the people he was seeing were dressed in Imperial uniforms.

The part of his thigh where his stump met his prothesis was itching. He was sweating, a drop sliding leisurely down his spine. Ezra’s eyes darted around, taking in the grey uniforms and white armour that was passing by him. A low murmur had filled the air, matching the background rumbles of starships and occasionally broken by slurred and staticky announcements over the intercom system. 

There was no black armour, though, Ezra reassured himself. No red lightsabers. No Inquisitors. Stormtroopers and Imperial officers were cake to slip by. He’d done it a thousand times before. He just had to keep calm.

But more sweat dripped down his back. His stomach was churning as more and more Imperials passed him by. Ezra wanted to speed up, run, but he forced himself to keep his steps slow and steady. If he ran, that would just get everyone’s attention.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the crowds of Imperials thinned a little. He began to see traders and pilots instead of officers. Ships began to vary, some big, some small, their lines jagged and smooth and in-between instead of the bland uniformity of Imperial shuttles. Despite knowing that he wasn’t quite in the clear yet, Ezra found himself relaxing a little. If he was grabbed — well, no, no one would interfere, but he wouldn’t just be disappeared.

Now, which hangar was the Ghost in? It felt like so long ago that they’d walked down the loading ramp onto the surface. After his night in the cells, the Grand Inquisitor, the tomb — if felt like it should have been months, but it had only been like, two, three days? His head still felt a bit fuzzy.

More and more, he saw pilots and merchants and traders until a pair of stormtroopers became a rare sight. He was deep in the depths of the public part of the spaceport now, filled with the people that the Empire couldn’t be bothered to bully. His eyes danced from ship to ship, searching for the Ghost’s familiar lines. 

There! Ezra couldn’t keep the broad smile from breaking across his face as saw it. Sitting in a pool of sunlight, the Ghost seemed to gleam to his eyes, radiating the sense of home. Its loading ramp down, it sat innocently, looking like nothing more than yet another freighter, ready to take its legal or otherwise load to another planet.

Ezra allowed himself to speed up just a little. The hovercart jolted as it hit the ramp, making the crate rattle, but he ignored it. He didn’t see anyone —

_BLAT!_

Ezra looked down and almost burst into tears. Chopper, the little orange astrodroid, was threatening him with his shockprod. It was such an unexpectedly comforting sight that he couldn’t keep his voice from cracking as he spoke. “Hey Chopper, are Hera and Kanan in?”

Chopper grunted, paused, and then made a suspicious whistle at him. Wiping his suddenly-damp eyes with the back of his hand, Ezra peeled off his hat and grinned down at the little astromech. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said. “It’s a long story.”

Choppers manipulators froze, then fell to the sides of his chassis. Another, longer wondering whistle. Then he rammed right into Ezra’s shins.

“OW! Chopper!” Ezra shouted, jumping back and grabbing at his one flesh shin. 

Above him, there was suddenly a series of loud thumps. Looking up, he just caught Zeb entering the cargo hold from the cockpit, his eyes looking wild. “Ezra?”

Ezra stopped hopping on one leg and put his other down sheepishly. “Hey Zeb. Where are Hera and Kanan?”

Zeb stared at him, dumbfounded and his eyes bulging more than usual. Then in one smooth movement, he jumped down from the small balcony and hit the ground, sweeping Ezra into a tight hug.

“Woah, big guy!” Ezra said, his voice muffled to his ears as his face was pressed into the tall alien’s chest. His thickly muscled arms wrapped around him, becoming an inescapable cage that Ezra struggled against.

He stopped at the sound of Zeb’s trembling voice above him.

“How?” Zeb breathed shakily. “How — we thought —” His arms squeezed Ezra a little tighter.

Abruptly, Ezra’s eyes were burning. Reaching up as best he could, he patted Zeb’s bicep. “Hey, hey, it’s fine, I’m fine.”

“Ezra?” 

At the sound of Hera’s voice, Zeb’s grip loosened just enough for Ezra to squirm free and look up.

The Twi’lek pilot stared down at the three of them with wide green eyes, her lekku curling in shock. “How — you’re here, how did you escape?”

“That’s certainly a question I’d like to know the answer to,” said an unfamiliar voice. Looking just behind Hera, Ezra saw an unfamiliar dark-skinned man looming in the doorway.

“It’s a long story, and we have more important things to talk about,” Ezra said. The warm feeling that had filled him at Zeb’s hug began to rapidly fall away as he remembered where he was. “Hera, Sabine’s gone to Imperial headquarters by herself.”

“What?” Hera’s lekku stiffened in shock. “Why?”

“When she was coming to get me out of my cell, she overheard some Imperials talking. The summit that’s going on — it’s a trap. There’s a bomb, and the Imperials are going to blame the Resistance for it.”

“What!?” the dark-skinned man yelped, straightening from where he had been leaning against the doorframe. “An assassination?!”

“It gets worse.” Ezra looked up at Hera seriously. “I — I was with the Grand Inquisitor. He — did something, he was trying to break my bond with Kanan, and I ended up getting peek into his head. There’s going to be an attack on Yavin base right after the bombing here. Some blue admiral is heading it up.”

Hera sucked in a breath, staring at him. Then she turned on her heel and bolted back to the cockpit, the dark-skinned man hot on her heels.

Zeb’s hand clapped down on his shoulder before Ezra could do much more than stare. “Buddy,” he said, pulling him towards the ladder, “I think that you’re going to be having to tell us this long story a lot sooner than you think.”

“Okay, okay,” Ezra said, allowing himself to be half-pushed, half-lifted onto the ladder, “but I think you guys have some explaining to do as well! Who is that guy with Hera? And where’s Kanan?”

“This is Kandal, part of the Mandalorian Great House of Rau,” Hera called from the cockpit. Reaching the top of the ladder, Ezra climbed onto the balcony and headed towards her voice. The doors to the cockpit were open, revealing her to already be fiddling with the comms array. “We were working with him and his people to infiltrate the summit so we could access Imperial databases and find out where you and Sabine were taken.”

Ezra was halfway into the room when he stopped, realizing what this meant. “Kanan’s at the summit,” he said, the blood draining from his face. 

The tips of Hera’s lekku were a very pale yellow.

“This Sabine — she’s a Mandalorian?”

Shaking, Ezra sat down in one of the seats and stared at his hands. “Y-yeah,” he muttered. “She — she said that she couldn’t just sit by, that she was going to warn everyone.”

Kandal looked concerned. “Isn’t she only sixteen?” he asked, looking at Hera. “The supercommandos will be there, they will not hesitate and she can’t have any weapons —”

“Yeah, thanks Kandal, we know,” Zeb snapped, stepping into the cockpit as well.

The man’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing.

“Damn it!” Hera snapped, breaking off the argument between the two men before it could begin. She smacked her hand down on the console hard, her teeth bared. “I can’t get through! They must already have a jammer up around the building!”

“So we can’t warn them?” Kandal asked, redirecting.

“Not unless we drive the Ghost right into the building, or they get outside,” Hera said grimly. “Right now, Sabine is probably the only person that can warn anyone in there."

“What about Yavin? Can we warn Yavin?” Zeb asked.

“Maybe. There’s a chance that we’ll attract attention if we do, though.”

“That’s going to have be a chance that we take, though,” Zeb said. “We can’t do anything about Kanan and Sabine right now, but we can do something about the Yavin attack.” He crossed his arms over his chest. 

Hera looked at him for a moment with wild eyes. Then she squeezed them shut and let out a long gust of air. “You’re right,” she said, rubbing at her forehead. “You’re right. We need to concentrate on what we can do now.”

Ezra knew that she was right. Sitting on that chair, though — he wished more than anything that she was wrong.

* * *

Sabine ran down the twisting tunnels leading to Imperial headquarters, the lingering traces of Ezra’s warm hug vanishing in the cool damp air. Tarre Vizsla’s helmet, the Mask of Mand’alor (and stars, she had never once thought that she would even be able to see such an artifact, let alone touch it) bounced against her leg where she had tied it in her uniform jacket and clipped to her belt. Her heart felt like it was about to pound its way right out of her chest. 

Dread was coiling in her gut, but she pushed onwards. She had to do this. No one else could. 

Sure, technically speaking someone else could get the message out. They could hijack the comms system or whatever, tell the assembled dignitaries about the bomb. Whether or not they would be believed…that was up for discussion.

Mandalorians did not like outsiders. At all. Too many cultural memories of being used by outsiders for their own purposes before then abruptly being declared enemies once they had what they wanted. The fact that it was the heads of the Great Houses that had to be warned only made things worse, what with their pride. An outsider, seeing a threat that they couldn’t? The Empire, daring to attack them?

No, they wouldn’t believe a non-Mando trying to warn them. She gritted her teeth, her feet slapping against the stone. So she had to.

 _It is unfair_ , Tarre said, his voice faint and echoing in her head. _This should not be your burden to shoulder._

“But there’s no one else,” she grunted.

 _There is no one else_ , he said mournfully, before it shifted back into something more businesslike. _Your exit will be coming up soon. It will be above you after your next turn._

“Got it.” Dragging her fingers against the rough stone wall, she slowed herself down enough to whip around the corner and screech to a stop. Looking up, she scanned the ceiling. 

It wasn’t hard to spot the exit. It was a black circle smack dab in the middle of the trail of glowing crystals that were the only source of light in the tunnels. However, it exposed a problem.

“Tarre,” Sabine said to the air, “I’m not seeing a handle here.”

_My apologies, he said, I forgot for a moment in the tomb that you were not a padawan. The door is most easily opened through the Force._

Sabine wrinkled her nose in disbelief. “Really? Are you kidding me?”

 _I’m afraid not._ To his credit, the man actually did sound a little embarrassed. _That’s not to say that it’s impossible to open without the Force. Simply more difficult_.

“Define difficult.”

_There should be a lock within the door itself. The code hasn’t changed since my death, but the device itself will most likely need a jolt of power to open._

“A jolt of power?” Sabine bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m not exactly carrying around spare powerpacks here, Tarre.”

Even as she spoke, though, she was thinking through what she could use. Her comm? No, she’d need that, definitely. She wasn’t sure if any of the power packs in Tarre’s helmet still worked. Where else did she have — 

Her blaster!

Patting at her belt, she breathed a sigh of relief when she found her blaster. She hadn’t even checked that she still had it before they’d left the tomb. Pulling it out, she pulled the powerpack out for the second time that day.

 _That should do it,_ Tarre said, his voice soft. _After you leave the tunnels, though, you will be on your own._

“I figured,” Sabine said, using the light of the fuel gauge to look closer at the door in the ceiling. She could see where the previous powerpack for it was situated, as well as the small handle set nearby. Jumping up, she grabbed a hold of it. Sticking the powerpack into her mouth, she narrowed her eyes and got to work.

Thankfully, the wires that lead to the attachments for the powerpack were still good. With a low hum and a few sparks, the glow of the door’s lock bloomed in the dark.

Grinning, Sabine entered the code that Tarre whispered in her ear and tugged on the door’s handle. With a groan and a clunk that had her wincing at its volume, the door opened, letting in a breath of stale, dusty air. 

_May the Force be with you_ , Tarre murmured as she swung herself up. And then she was alone.

The room that the door opened into was less of a room and more of a widening of an old maintenance tunnel. The door was in a corner, disguised as part of the floor, next to a set of dead monitors. Unlit corridors lead off into darkness, the only light coming from a few climate control panels set into the walls.

There was a breeze, though. Only low to the ground, unnoticeable if she hadn’t been crawling from a subterranean tunnel, but it was there. Sabine chewed the inside of her cheek and finished pulling herself out of the doorway, the helmet on her hip getting caught on the hole’s lip for a second before popping free. A breeze meant the surface, which meant a route to the comms tower that she knew was here. It also, however, meant people. Most likely ones that wouldn’t be friendly to her desire to warn the Heads about the bomb. Turning, she looked at the blaster battery that was still attached to the door.

Drained. She grimaced.

So, she wouldn’t even have a weapon for this. Alright. She could handle that. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been on a stealth mission before. 

Carefully, her muscles straining from the weight, she put the door back in place. It fit into the floor perfectly, barely even leaving a visible seam as Sabine straightened up and rubbed her arms. 

Alright. Alright. She clenched her fists. It was time to save her people. 

Keeping her footsteps light and noiseless, something that was difficult in Imperial-issue boots, she began to head towards where the air had been flowing from. As she headed further into the darkness, her guess that she was in the maintenance tunnels of Imperial headquarters seemed to be correct. Unlike the neat and polished face that the Empire liked to show to the galaxy, down here was a maze of rattling pipes and grimy control panels. Abandoned tools lay on the ground near the panels, one skittering loudly as Sabine accidentally kicked it.

Wincing, Sabine froze as the metallic clangs of the omnitool filled the air, straining her ears to see if someone else down here had heard the noise. A pipe beside her hissed softly and clanked.

Nothing —

Words, just a little too far off to be made out, reached her ears. Sabine froze even more, if that was possible, and strained her ears.

Two voices for sure, talking back and forth. Probably wearing helmets, judging from the subtle electronic buzz to them; one definitely male, the other less clearly gendered. Biting her lower lip, Sabine looked around for someplace to hide. There were no convenient rooms just off the side of the tunnel, but the pipers were pretty thick…

“Kriffing supercommandos,” the stormtrooper on the right grumbled as he passed underneath Sabine, “too good to check these damned maintenance shafts themselves.”

“Quit complaining,” the stormtrooper on the left said in a tired tone that communicated that this was not the first time he’d heard these complaints, “at least we don’t have to put up with a bunch of snotty ‘warriors’ looking down their noses at us.” The quotation marks around the word warriors were clearly audible.

The first stormtrooper laughed scornfully. “Watch out, trooper, they’ve been taught since they could hold a blaster! If they hear you…”

The second stormtrooper joined the first in his laughter. “Maybe they can hold a blaster, but shooting it’s different. If one of them could take an Imperial stormtrooper we wouldn’t be here.”

Laughing agreement followed the two troopers as they walked down in the direction that Sabine had come from and turned a corner. Sabine let out a breath. Shifting, she slung her legs back over the edge of the pipe hanging from the ceiling that she’d climbed onto to hide and let herself fall. Noiselessly, she hit the ground.

Well, at least she wouldn’t be running into supercommandos until later. That was good to know. Her stomach still twisted at the roundheads’ words.

Nope. Nope nope nope. She turned and pushed the feeling of indignation down. She had a job to do. She had to get the communications hub, not defend her people against the insults of a few idiots. Keeping her people alive came before her hurt feelings.

Keeping her footsteps quiet, she started padding down the corridor again, the Mask of Mand’alor heavy as a blaster at her hip.


	18. What the Kriff?

I’m just a normal, average Mando warrior. I’m not worth looking at more closely. I like blasters and fighting, and hate Jedi. Grr grr, go Empire…

“Loosen up, Jarrus,” Fokkay murmured over the comms channel. “You look like someone pinched your butt.”

Dimly, underneath his focus on making his Force signature as average as possible, Kanan noted that his muscles were indeed locked up as tight as precious gems in some bank vault. Keeping his breathing even, he began to run through some of the old Jedi exercises he had learned as a youngling for calming down. Muscle by muscle, he forced himself to relax and not look like he was up to something to any onlookers.

“Sorry,” he muttered back over the comms. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we have some Inquisitors present up above.”

Behind him, he felt Mahhae stiffen. She was too well-trained to look up, though. “Inquisitors?”

“Yeah,” Kanan replied. “Don’t worry, I’m shielding myself and doing my best to look normal in the Force. So long as I keep it up, they shouldn’t have any reason to confront us.” 

His stomach twisted as he spoke, though. Why would an Inquisitor be here at a Mandalorian political summit? Some sort of show of force from the Empire? Hah hah, here’s a person from the group that spearheaded your slaughter and you can’t do anything about it?

“Rau.”

“Shysa.”

Kanan was glad for the distraction of Rau greeting one of the other leaders of the Mandalorian houses. Dressed in a high-necked green tunic with armour plates woven in underneath the fabric, the blond man was sipping a glass of some sort of alcohol, his arms crossed over his chest and eyes sharp. “That’s a pretty bold choice of outfit to wear here.”

Bold? Kanan clung to his confusion, preferring it to the stomach-knotting tension of wondering if and when the Inquisitor would notice him. Flicking his eyes over Rau’s all-black ensemble, he wondered if perhaps black was not considered a formal colour here.

Rau didn’t look back at them, simply cocking his head to one side. “Oh?”

Shysa snorted softly into his glass and took a long sip, not breaking Rau’s gaze. “All black? Maybe the Imperial bureaucrats don’t know Mando colour symbolism, but you can bet your ass Saxon does. Do you really think that he’ll appreciate you signaling that you don’t think justice is being done?”

A waiter was passing by carrying a tray of glasses like the one Shysa was holding. Rau freely broke his staring contest with Shysa to snatch one and take a sip. “What he reads into my clothing choices is his problem, not mine. Perhaps I’m merely signaling my desire to keep the Empire’s justice.”

Shysa snorted. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Rau.”

Rau didn’t have time to reply, because at that moment a supercommando emerged from the crowd around them and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Lord Rau? The viceroy will see you now.”

Kanan only just managed to keep himself from jumping. Underneath his helmet, he took in a deep breath and let it out through his nose. Right. Okay. If he could just calm the hell down, then maybe they would be able to get through this. Glancing over at Rau, he marveled at his calm.

Throwing back his head, the red-haired man finished his drink with a swift gulp and placed the now-empty glass on the tray of another nearby waiter, looking entirely unaffected by the supercommando’s words. Brushing his hands off together, he tilted his chin up. “Very well. Lead us to him.”

“Showtime,” Mahhae muttered.

They were lead from the ballroom without fanfare, through a small door that lead into a narrow, poorly-lit grey hallway. Walking along it, Kanan kept his eyes out for any access ports. 

Too quickly and yet to slowly, they were finally brought to a halt in front of a narrow grey door flanked on both sides by yet more supercommandos. The one that had lead them here nodded to the others briefly, who nodded back, before reaching up and knocking on the door.

“Come in.” The voice that floated through the door made the words sound more like a command than a concession. With a hiss of pneumatics, the door opened, revealing a similarly poorly-lit room that was lined with weapons. Two men were standing in the middle of it, wearing supercommando armour. One was tall and square-jawed, his white hair slickly parted on the side. The other had a thin, weaselly face with a great beak of a nose under his blond slicked-back hair. Both looked at their little group like they were something to be scraped off of their boots.

Stopping just a few steps into room, Rau tucked his hands behind his back and settled into a stance that Kanan recognized as ‘parade rest’. Cocking his head slightly, he said, “You called?”

The square-jawed man grunted, looking sour, and turned more fully towards them. Kanan internally raised an eyebrow as he noticed the splint on his index finger. “Nice outfit. You have it?”

Kanan’s internal eyebrow only rose higher at the man’s tone. Was that any way to talk to a powerful political figure in your sector? He’d known that the Empire was arrogant, but surely another Mandalorian would know better. Peeking out of the corner of his visor, he saw a muscle in Rau’s jaw jump. 

“I do, Viceroy,” he said, inclining his head just enough that he couldn’t be called out for being rude. 

Viceroy Saxon just grunted again, his eyes narrowing in clear displeasure that Rau hadn’t risen to his provocation. He held out a hand.

The muscle in Rau’s jaw jumped again. Not quite slowly but definitely carefully, he reached into an inner pocket and pulled out a datacard. “As you requested, House Rau’s records of Compound Viszla’s original blueprints.”

Saxon snatched it from Rau’s hand with ill grace. “I’ll be having my people check it over before you leave,” he said.

Rau inclined his head. “Of course.”

Now it was Saxon’s jaw that had a muscle jumping in it. His nostrils flared, and Kanan noticed that the thin-faced man looked at him with concern. “You can go, then,” he gritted out. “Wren will see you out.”

“My thanks,” Rau said, scrupulously polite. Turning, he addressed the supercommando that had retrieved them from the ballroom. “If you wouldn’t mind leading the way?”

The supercommando hesitated. His head swiveled from Rau to Saxon and back again.

“Well?” Saxon snapped, clearly in a bad mood due to Rau managing to keep his dignity. “You heard the man. Let Lord Rau,” he sneered the man’s title, “go back to his mingling.”

Wren flinched. Turning, he gestured to the door. Rau nodded and silently headed out, Kanan and the others trailing after them.

As they traveled back towards the ballroom, Kanan felt something stir in the back of his mind. That entire experience — what had been with that? The way Rau and the others had been talking, Kanan had expected the Viceroy to be arrogant. Gloating about the power he held over Rau. And while Kanan was not the strongest when it came to sensing other people’s motives, the man had practically been radiating something that almost felt like — nervousness.

But what would the Imperial Viceroy of the Mandalore sector have to be nervous about?

Something whispered in the Force, and as they walked back into the ballroom, Wren peeling off to disappear into the crowd, Kanan found himself carefully opening himself back up to it. 

Nervousness. Nervousness all around him, and underneath the sour whiff of warning. Not the warning of a blaster bolt already flying towards his head, hot and sharply sour on the back of his tongue, but something slower. More bitter, and coating his tongue like burned caff. Something was coming, and it was big. 

Clicking on his comms channel, Kanan licked his lips before hesitantly speaking. “Hey, was it just me or was the Viceroy looking a little stressed?”

Fokkay hummed quietly. “I haven’t met the man many times, but he’s always kind of struck me as a loud asshole. Maybe he was just pissed because Fenn wasn’t giving him an excuse to start something?”

Kanan frowned, bitter warnings overwhelming in his mouth. “I’m not sure. Something isn’t right, though.”

There was a long couple of seconds of silence. Then Mahhae spoke, sounding cautious. “Is it your gut telling you that, or…” She trailed off meaningfully. 

Sucking on his teeth, Kanan scanned the room. Now that he was looking closer, the bureaucrats that he could see had a certain shabbiness to them — a certain lack of the sleekness he associated with high-ranked Imperial civil servants. 

“The Force — it’s not giving me anything definite,” he finally admitted, “but something’s wrong. Something is going to happen here, and it’s not going to be good.”

He felt the other two tense behind him. “Define something.”

“Some sort of attack.”

“Kriff.” Fokkay’s tone was grim. “I’m thinking that we should be getting a move on in finding that access terminal, then.”

“I agree,” Kanan began. Then he stopped, the rest of his words dying in his throat as he saw a black-armoured figure in the crowd. Standing a good head above everyone else, the grey-skinned Inquisitor made his way through the crowd like a shark passing through a school of fish. His head swinging from side to side, it was clear that he was looking for something. Or someone.

* * *

The door closed behind Master Rahm before Rig could ask him what he was talking about. 

Taa was teaching one of the children the Jedi tenets. Why was the Force shifting uncomfortably at that? Taa had been a creche master back in the Temple, it would make sense that the woman was doing something like that — right? Even if Rig hadn’t been told — why would she be told? She was healing the children, not teaching them. It made sense that she wouldn’t be told, right? Right?

The Force twisted and so did her lips. 

No. No, this wasn’t right. With all that was going in preparing for the children’s entrance into the Order, it made more sense for her and the other healers to be aware of who was teaching what. After all, these were the first initiates and padawans the Order would have in over a decade. It hadn’t quite been discussed but Rig had gotten the impression that the plan was to have a more group-based educational system at first before the formal choosing of padawans began —

A hand tugged on her sleeve. Shaking her head free of her thoughts, Rig looked down to see who was touching her and saw Tharassa. She was staring up at her with an odd expression on her blue face - her red-on-red eyes were wide and her lips pressed tightly together.

“Ah, yes Tharassa? What is it?” Rig asked.

A small, purple tongue tip snaked out of the girl’s mouth and ran along her lips as her hand fell away from Rig’s arm. Tapping her fingers together, she looked away, her expression shifting to one of concentration. “I…” she began, her voice so quiet that Rig had to bend over to hear it, “I need to talk vit you.”

“Yes?” Rig said. Standing back up, she briefly looked around the room. The bed next to Aji was free; taking Tharassa by the shoulders, she gently steered them over to it and sat down, helping the girl up. “What do you need to tell me?”

“Iz about Starkiller,” she said, her voice strangely accented and still so soft. She wasn’t looking at Rig, instead staring down at her hands that had graduated to wringing. “About lessonz vit Taa.”

“Master Taa,” Rig automatically corrected. Odd behaviour or not, the woman was still a Jedi Knight. “But go on. What about Galen’s lessons with her?”

The girl was silent for a long moment, her hand-wringing increasing in intensity. “Iz her lessonz normal? I see zem, and I do not know.”

It took a moment for Rig to put together what Tharassa was asking. She had apparently seen some of Taa’s lessons, and was asking if they were normal…?

Her knee-jerk reaction was to say yes. That whatever Tharassa had seen was of course normal. But something about the girl’s face made her stop that sentence before it even reached her mouth. 

“I’m sorry, Tharassa,” she said instead, “I’m afraid I can’t really tell you if Taa’s lessons are normal or not. I’ve never actually seen one.” Gently, she placed a hand on her back. “Could you describe what her lessons are like?”

The girl went quiet again for a long minute. Her knuckles were white as she wrung her hands now, and small dark blue marks were being left on the skin where she was rubbing. 

Rig waited patiently, even as a curl of foreboding twisted through the Force. This was not good, she could feel it in her bones, and the Force seemed to be agreeing with her. After a minute of silence, Rig gently squeezed Tharassa’s shoulder. “Tharassa?”

Her red eyes flicked over to Aji and then back to her lap. She chewed on her lower lip.

Rig waited patiently for another minute before prodding her again. “Tharassa?”

“Ven you ver first treating Aji,” she began suddenly, “I got bored vun day. You ver meditating, and no vun vas paying attention to me, so I slipped out and vandered around your ship for a bit.” Her hands had stilled in their wringing, and were now just squeezing each other tightly. “And — I saw sumting zat I don’t tink I vas supposed to see.”

The Force — it was like Rig’s nerves were some stringed instrument, and someone was slowly dragging a bow along them, the notes they were making slowly growing louder as her stomach dropped lower. “What do you mean?”

Tharassa’s chin was tucked in against her chest. Using her free hand, Rig reached across herself and gently slipped a finger underneath it, lifting her head to face Rig directly. “What do you mean,” she repeated, the awful, gut churning thrum in the Force getting louder with every passing second.

The girl’s eyes darted away and back to looking at her. She moistened her lips again. “I — tink I saw vun of Master Taa’s lessonz. And — and —” Her face crumpled a little, her red eyes now looking shiny. “It looked like it hurt.”

Now it was Rig’s turn to be silent. Her mind churned. There was no lesson, no sort of teaching that a beginner would be taught that was supposed to cause pain. No lesson that could cause pain, even if taught incorrectly. 

“What do you mean, it looked like it hurt?” she finally asked carefully, holding herself very still and only just managing to keep the panic rising up in her chest from overwhelming her.

Tharassa was looking down at her hands again, biting her lip. “It looked — it looked like zat story you showed me. Ze one vit ze Jedi zat became a Sith and zen a Jedi again. Ze page ven ze Council — I talked a bit before vit Starkiller, before his lessonz started. He told me a story about his father, but ven I asked him to finish it later, he didn’t know vat I vas talking about. I vent to try and see him zat day on ze ship to ask again, and zat’s ven I saw him and Master Taa —”

Oh no. Oh no. Rig stood up, knowing what Tharassa was talking about and desperately hoping that she was wrong. She had known Master Taa back in the Temple; it was hard not to, since children, even ones as protected and isolated as Jedi younglings, had a nasty habit of catching every bug and sickness that got into the Temple. Master Taa had been kinder back then, unhardened by there nearly two-decade long exile from home. She had made a habit of coming into the medbay to read to the sick younglings, and had always held a special fascination for the Tale of Revan.

That fascination — and missing memories —

She didn’t want to believe it. She didn’t want to think that someone from this time would believe that that old technique, something that had been declared an abominable crime by every thinking Jedi Master and scholar that studied the tale, was something that should be used on a child — 

Tharassa had stopped speaking as she moved, but Rig ignored it for now, crossing over to the small office she had been using. Digging through the drawers, she found the datapad that she had stored the stories on and brought it back to the blue-skinned girl.

“Tharassa,” she said, keeping her voice calm as she frantically tapped through the pages of the tale of Revan, trying to find that one scene. “Do you mean the reveal? When Revan finds out what the Council did to them?”

She obviously didn’t succeed in keeping her voice steady, because the girl shrank back from her, her eyes darting around like she was looking for an exit. Her mouth clamped shut, and she didn’t say anything.

Rig forced herself not to clench her teeth. Finally, finally, after what seemed like an eternity of flicking through the pages of the story, she reached it. That illustration of Revan’s breakdown, of their memories of their violation. Touching the screen, she enlarged the part of the picture that showed Revan’s scouring, when the Council tore out everything they were and replaced it with a perfect loyal puppet. The sickly red overlay seemed to almost glow accusingly, covering the robed figures surrounding the restrained Revan with a layer of light that resembled the shine of a Sith’s lightsaber. The figure of Revan was painted as twisting in pain, with white tracks representing tears covering the black oval of their face.

Holding the pad out towards Tharassa so that she could see the picture, Rig swallowed. “Tharassa. Please. Tell me what you saw.”

Tharassa was silent for a long, long moment, just staring at the picture with a frightened look on her face. Her eyes jumped between it and Rig’s face, seemingly unable to decide which was more frightening. Then she sucked in a deep breath, visibly steeling herself.

Reaching out with a shaking hand, she pointed at the picture, staring at it with her red-on-red eyes. “Zis,” she said, her voice becoming very quiet again. “It vas not quite like zis — zere vas only her, not a group of Jedi, but she vas sitting behind him, and he had some cloth between his teeth, and she had her hands covering his head —” Her finger trembled, but her voice remained steady. “He vas cryink. His eyes ver shut and he vas cryink, and clawing at her hands ands kicking until he vasn’t. Only zen did she let go. He vas lyink on ze ground, and she stood up —”

Tharassa’s voice broke, and she cleared her throat. Breathed. Steadied her trembling hand. “He rolled on his side and he vass still cryink quietly and she looked at him so hatefully —” Her voice broke again, and tears welled up in her eyes.

Rig’s own eyes were burning as she dropped the pad and pulled Tharassa into a hug. She didn’t care if it wasn’t being a good Jedi to show such affection. Right now, she needed this hug as much as Tharassa did.

Stars. Revan’s Cure. Master Taa was trying to apply Revan’s Cure to a child. Master Taa was attempting to scrub a child’s head clean like a pot and then shove in someone else to take young Galen’s place. Master Taa —

Rig shifted and tucked Tharassa’s head under her chin as she whimpered, her tears dampening Rig’s front. Personally, Rig rather felt like crying too. She had not precisely been close friends with Taa, but the woman had helped out a lot in the medbay during those awful early days of exile. They had shared meals, exhaustedly munching on tasteless rations and then falling into bed before getting up for another shift of treating the injured and traumatized. Taa had been so good with the younglings, soothing their nightmares and hurts, helping them through their memories of their fellow younglings being slaughtered in front of them. She’d been good with the severely injured as well — she’d been one of the main carers for Master Kota after he was found! And if after all of that, after giving so much of herself away in those tough days she was a little snappish, a little stiff when it came to their traditions — who would blame her? 

Tharassa was still sniffling into Rig’s front. Swallowing, Rig took a breath and then boxed up all of the horror, all of the shame that she was feeling and released it into the Force. “Tharassa,” she said quietly, “Tharassa, would you be willing to repeat all of this in front of the Council?”

Tears still dripping down her cheeks, Tharassa looked up from where she had had her face buried in Rig’s chest. “Vhy? I already told you…”

Rig smoothed her hand over Tharassa’s hair. “The Council prefers to hear such things from witnesses directly,” she said, “rather than just second-hand. I promise you, I will be there when you do — but telling the Council will be the fastest and most efficient way of having Taa separated from young Galen.”

Tharassa bit her lip. It was looking a little bloody now, her teeth having scraped away several layers of flesh. “Zey vill not — vill not mind my vay of speaking, right?” Her eyes flicked away. “Ze guards on Dromund Kaas — zey did not like my accent. Zey called me stupid for not knowing very much of Basic.”

Yet another thing to hate the Empire for. Was there nothing in the Jedi Order that they could not twist or ruin? Making a child from Wild Space ashamed of speaking —

No. No. In a box and out to the Force.

She smoothed her hand over Tharassa’s hair again. “Of course not,” she said, pouring all of her reassurance into her voice. “You are hardly the first person with an accent that they have come across.” Slowly, she got up, still holding on to Tharassa, who’s fingers were now digging into the back of her dress. 

Her comm with the channel directly to the Council was still on her desk in her office. Gently guiding Tharassa with her, she went back into the small room and shut the door behind her before picking the device up and thumbing it on.

Gratifyingly, it was picked up immediately. “Healer Nema,” came the dulcet tones of Master Kenobi, “aren’t you still down on base with young Aji? Have you figured something out about Master Windu?”

“I’m afraid not,” Rig replied, her voice tight despite releasing her emotions into the Force. “But I do have some information about a situation that needs to be dealt with immediately.”

* * *

Rahm padded along silently down the corridor, his thoughts nipping at his heels. He had thought that talking to Nema, one of the Order’s mindhealers would help, but —  
Force. He’d faked his death. Kento had faked his own damn death. 

He clenched his teeth. Keeping a hand on the wall, he stopped and reached up to scratch underneath his blindfold, welcoming the little frissons of pain the action sent down his spine. 

He was a Jedi Master. He had Mastered himself long ago. He knew the dangers of being unable to let go — so why couldn’t he let go of these thoughts? Yes, Kento had faked his death. That fact had been established quite firmly. He had a son that he was killed in front of. Rahm had not known of the son until recently, but he had had several days now to accept that fact. Thinking about it should not make him feel like he was standing on quicksand. He should be fine. Any true Jedi would be fine.

Why wasn’t he fine?

Something warm smeared underneath his fingertips. He clenched his jaw and pulled his hand away from his face. He’d scratched himself open again.

Breathe. In and out. I am one with the Force and the Force is with me. These events had happened, and nothing that Rahm could do could change that. Clinging to them, obsessing over them in his head was attachment.

He had to let go. He had to let go — 

But he couldn’t.

He needed a stars-damn drink. A drink and someone to talk to. Someone who understood.

He needed Taa. 

During and after his recovery from his time with the Inquisitorius, she’d been there. His companion, the person that talked to him during the horrible process of having the dead skin cut away from his face, who’d get him a drink when the shakes got to be too much, food when he couldn’t force himself out of bed…

She just helped make everything make sense in a galaxy that seemed bound and determined to destroy the foundations that he had set his life on. 

Dragging his fingers along the cool metal wall of the corridor, he walked towards her room, his feet knowing the route better than his mind. It was quieter up here on one of the Order’s ships, much quieter than down below. Not just audibly, but through the Force as well. It wasn’t the Resistance’s fault, of course; not being Jedi, they simply didn’t know how to quieten their presence through the Force, and consequently sent ripples through it with their every thought. With how sensitive he had become after his maiming, he now found that overwhelming, though, whereas before it had simply been a background noise to his existence. Sometimes even staying amongst his fellow Jedi could become too loud, leaving him huddled away on his mattress in the ship’s engine rooms. 

Another thing that Taa helped him with. She had always had a talent for the mental arts. He could remember that from their classes together. 

Reaching Taa’s door, he pressed the button to open it and stepped in. “Taa?” he called in a rough voice. “Can I talk to you?”

Silence met him.

Rahm paused just inside the doorway. This was odd. Normally Taa answered quickly. Peeling back his shields just a little, he felt for her.

Oh. 

A curl of embarrassment wound its way up his neck. She wasn’t here.

…That was odd. She wasn’t really one for socializing, and she usually kept her days open when he had one of his check-ups.

“Master Kota?”

Rahm turned his head, despite not having eyes to look over his shoulder. He’d hoped that no one had just seen his little embarrassment, but it seemed that he was not destined for such luck. A quick touch through the Force confirmed the man’s identity and he internally groaned.

“Master Bates,” he murmured, ignoring the little ripple of disapproval that he felt every time he met this particular member of the Order. “Can I help you?”

Master Bates sniffed. Out of haughtiness or out of trying to smell if he was drunk again, Rahm wasn’t sure. Probably the second. The man hated how he coped with everything that had happened, thinking that it was below the dignity of a Jedi Master. Personally, Rahm thought it was below the dignity of a Jedi Master to be a nosy busybody, but whatever. No one had asked his opinion. “If you’re looking for Master Taa, you won’t find her here,” he said snootily. “She’s with that boy.”

The way Bates said boy had Rahm’s hackles standing up. It wasn’t a question as to who this boy was — it had to be Galen. But the way Bates said it, like the kid was something foul or dirty to be spat out as quickly as possible…

“I see,” Rahm said, keeping his voice even and tucking his hands into his sleeves where he could clench them into fists without comment. “And where does she go with the kid? I have something I need to talk with her about.”

Bates scoffed quietly, probably thinking that Rahm couldn’t hear him, and answered in the same snotty tone. “Down below, near your beloved engine rooms.”

“My greatest thanks, Master Bates,” Rahm said, knowing that politeness would be the best way to get under the other Jedi’s skin. “I’ll head there now and leave you to business.”  
Sweeping away with his chin held high, Rahm ignored Bates’ sputtering in favour of chewing over what the man had told him.

The engine rooms, eh? Not the quietest place to be, that was for certain. Rahm wouldn’t have thought that it would be a good place for teaching a student, with all of the loud machinery and vibrations that within. Then again, considering his track record with teaching, he didn’t precisely have a lot of room to talk. Maybe their isolation? People didn’t hang around there like they did everywhere else in the fleet.

His feet knew the way to the engines even better than the path to Taa’s rooms. Down thirteen levels in a turbolift from Taa’s room, then through three doorways, all he had to do was follow the low, almost subsonic hum that vibrated in one’s chest on all starships. All around him was machinery, humming and buzzing and clanging and hissing and drowning out the galaxy. 

He knew the lay of the land down here best. All the rooms and corridors, he knew them intimately, and so was able to narrow down where Taa likely had set up base with only a few minutes of thought. 

As he walked, he wondered why he had never noticed Taa coming down here with Galen before. It made sense now, of course, why Galen had come and visited him so often in this forgotten corner of the ship, but still, considering the amount of time he was here…

Ah, but how much of the time was he sober enough to notice his surroundings, he asked himself. Shove enough of some mind-clouding substance into anyone and they’ll stop noticing anything outside of the pretty pictures in their head. Or the lack thereof. 

Underneath his fingers, he felt the divot in the doorframe of the room that Taa was likely using. Absentmindedly, still going over when he could have noticed Taa and Galen, he opened the door without so much as a knock.

The foul, bitter taste of the Dark Side that met him was like a slap to the face.

Rahm was wrenched from his thoughts with an abruptness that had his head snapping up from its slump like someone had jerked a piece of string that was attached to it. The taste of the Dark bitter on the back of his tongue, his hand automatically went for lightsaber.

Most of the time, it took a headache-inducing amount of focus to ‘see’ through the Force. Right now, though, it only took a touch to realize what was going on in front of him.  
Taa, bent over the small light of Galen like a deep black cloud, was deep in the Force. Like ink dropped into clear water, darkness radiated off of her, twining through the air and around Galen’s flickering, frantic, pained light in a way that reminded him of a spider’s legs pulling its prey closer. The little light of Galen twisted and scrabbled, trying to avoid the piercing stabs of the Darkness surrounding him.

“Taa,” Rahm said, his mouth suddenly dry with horror instead of the craving for alcohol, “what the kriff are you doing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the last scene here was literally titled "What the Fuck, Taa?"


	19. Under the Helmet

“Shit,” Kanan hissed.

“What is it?” Fokkay asked, their voice already having slid into something professional. Turning his head slightly, Kanan could see them scanning the room. Then — “Shit.”

“What?” Mahhae asked.

“An Inquisitor,” Kanan said grimly. His eyes darted around the room and not for the first time he found himself cursing the helmet he was forced to wear. It made him feel like he was half-blind, like anyone could sneak up on him. “And he knows that something’s up. I need to get out of here.”

“Kriff.” Mahhae said, her voice oddly calm. “Okay then. Don’t panic, we’re going to have to play this cool. Fokkay, can you get Fenn’s attention? Make it look natural.”

“Got it.”

“Jarrus, fastest way I can think of to get you out of here is to pretend that you need to go get something back at the hotel. Think you can play that?”

Kanan gritted his teeth, looking back at the Inquisitor. “Yeah, but what about the plan?”

“We can carry it out, don’t you worry. Ezra Bridger, fifteen years old, probably in one of the more hidden databases. Only thing that can stop us is if you attract the attention of the Empire,” Mahhae said, her voice still that strange calm. “Fenn and us talked about this while you were in the fresher. He’s going to pretend to have left his ceremonial seal back at the hotel. You, as his most trusted man, are going to go and get it for him, understand?”

“Yes,” Kanan said, frustration warring with the sick feeling of his grasp on the situation fluttering away. “I can’t say I like it, though.”

“Deal with it,” Mahhae said bluntly. “This whole plan was already risky enough, we are not making it worse by waving you in front of the Inquisitors.”

Kanan ground his teeth some more, but there was nothing he could argue about. The Inquisitor, huge and muscular and grey, was still swinging his head around like an akk hound scenting the air. Controlling his breathing, he clamped down on his Force signature as much as he dared. No one interesting here, just another dumb meatheaded jock…

Rau made a small, imperious gesture at Kanan, silently ordering him forward with a bored and slightly irritated look on his face. “Kandal,” he said, his voice a little low like he was having a private conversation but not so low that it was suspicious, “I’m afraid I seem to have left my seal behind at the hotel. I’m going to need it for the summit.”

“Understood, sir,” Kanan said, not bothering to pepper his speech with bits of Mando’a like the people surrounding them were. Him mispronouncing it would be more suspicious than not using it at all. “I’ll be back before it starts.”

“I’d hope so,” Rau said coolly. He gave a short nod, more a slight incline of the head than an actual show of respect, and turned back to the rest of the crowd in a clear gesture of dismissal.

Straightening, Kanan nodded back even as Rau turned and then headed towards the door, horribly aware of the Inquisitor who was beginning to meander through the crowd. At the very least, he wasn’t the only person to be made uneasy by the being’s presence; all around him, he could hear a low muttering from the Mandalorians, heads turning towards the Inquisitor as hands subtly gripped their glasses tighter. Nervousness and anger thrummed against his nerves, hiding him like a needle in a pile of identical needles.  
Thankfully, he managed to reach the doors without comment from anyone, skirting along the edges of the room. Slipping out of the room, he let out a breath underneath his helmet and began to head down the corridor that lead outside.

Of course, it was then that he hit a small speedbump in his brilliant escape.

“What do you mean, I’m not allowed to leave?” Kanan struggled to keep his nerves from his voice, focusing on sounding like an irritated Mando warrior and not an ex-Jedi Resistance operative trying to escape an op gone bad.

The short, skinny little Imperial bureaucrat drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height and stared up his nose at him, clutching his datapad close to his chest. “I mean exactly what I said. The summit is about to begin and Viceroy Saxon has given orders that no one is to leave. We cannot have people coming and going as they please if we are to keep a secure perimeter.”

Kanan ground his teeth for the third time in ten minutes. Kriff kriff kriff kriff. “My lord misplaced his House’s seal back at our hotel. He requires it for the summit itself; surely you can make an exception.”

The bureaucrat simply scoffed. “No exceptions,” he drawled. “Your ‘lord’ should have made a checklist. It’s not the Empire’s fault if he ends up embarrassing himself in front of his peers.”

Wow. No wonder this bureaucrat wasn’t high ranked enough to be in the ballroom mingling. 

Kanan figured that he could afford to let out an irritated sigh, even as his mind raced. Alright. He couldn’t leave, but going back to the ballroom was not an option so long as the Inquisitor was prowling. Where else could he go where an Inquisitor was unlikely to be?

“I don’t suppose the Viceroy has banned going to the fresher as well, has he?” Kanan asked, putting a little sarcasm into his voice. He was just a dumb, annoyed Mandalorian after all. A person like that wouldn’t think twice about tweaking an Imp’s metaphorical nose, right?

The bureaucrat’s lip curled and he narrowed his eyes in a way that would almost be intimidating if it weren’t for the fact that he had to crane his neck back to look Kanan in the eye. Visor. Whatever.

“Hardly,” he drawled. “To your left, down the hall, seventh door on your left. Now be on your way, unless you need one of our troopers to hold your hand.”

Kanan decided that a Mando warrior wouldn’t even dignify that comment with a reply. Turning, he ignored the bureaucrat’s indignant sputter as he left without saying thanks and headed towards the fresher.

The inside of the room smelled like every other office fresher that Kanan had been in, strong-smelling cleaner that claimed to smell like some fruit or fresh breeze that nevertheless failed to hide the scent of dozens of people’s piss. Checking the stalls for other people, he was quickly satisfied that he was alone, most people unwilling to miss the mingling opportunities in the ballroom. Slipping inside of a stall, he locked the door behind him, sat down on the toilet and tried not to panic.

Alright. Alright. This had gone, to borrow an old saying from his roughneck days, completely tits up. He needed to figure out a way to get of here and he needed it yesterday. If he was careful, he could probably find a window, but then that just opened up the problem of getting out of the area in full Mando armour without being noticed by everyone in the city. He could maybe leave the armour behind, but he knew from Sabine’s lectures just how important a Mando’s armour was and he didn’t fancy him and the rest of the crew’s chances of getting off this moon if they pissed off their allies along with the Empire. And that didn’t even tackle failing to get the information that they needed to rescue Ezra and Sabine —

Kriff. Kriff kriff kriff. He needed to contact Hera and the rest of them. Maybe they could come up with a plan to get out of here alive. If nothing else, they should be alerted to the change of plans. Raising his hand, Kanan tapped the side of his helmet, switching through the comms channels until he reached Ghost’s.

The door to the fresher swung open, and Kanan stopped breathing mid-thought.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The door hissed shut behind the person that had opened it, leaving the room silent except for the sound of their footsteps.

Breathe, he told himself sternly. Breathe. You’re in the fresher for a reason. Play it cool, there’s no reason for anyone to suspect you of any wrongdoing —

There was a knock at the stall door. Kriff.

Clearing his throat, Kanan force his voice to be even as he answered through the metal door. “Occupied.”

There was silence. The faint sound of someone breathing. Then another knock.

“Occupied!” He should take his gloves off. Even Mandalorian’s wouldn’t poop with their armoured gloves on, right? As he took them off, he hesitantly cracked open the shields that he’d put up at seeing the Inquisitor and reached out. He hadn’t heard anyone else come in — maybe it was just a bureaucrat with a favourite toilet?

A little twist of anxiety, and an odd resistance that reminded him almost of a Jedi mental shield —

“Kanan Jarrus?” the person standing in front of the stall door said.

Kanan had gotten up, opened the door, grabbed the front of the speaker’s shirt, dragged him in, closed and locked the door, and slammed him against the stall wall with his arm against his throat before he realized that the voice was too young to belong to an Inquisitor.

“How do you know my name?” he hissed before he actually saw who he was pinning to the wall.

A young human boy, dark-skinned and dressed in the uniform of an Imperial cadet, clawed at his armoured arm, gasping for breath. “M-my name’s Zare Leonis,” he gasped, “Sabine sent me!”

For a long second, still pinning the kid to the wall, Kanan’s mind churned. He couldn’t feel any lies coming from the kid, but how would Sabine have been able to get someone on her side so fast —

Well, it was Sabine, he noted to himself.

Leaning close, he growled, “You yell for Imperials, you will regret it, understand?”

Maybe it was the T-visor, maybe it was his tone alone, but the kid nodded rapidly, his eyes wide with fear. Satisfied that he wouldn’t yell, he let off with the pressure, allowing the kid to find his feet on the ground, but switching to a grip on the kid’s shoulder. He let the boy cough for a bit, rubbing his throat, before he started asking questions again.  
“If Sabine sent you, how did you know that it was me in this armour?” he began, keeping his grip tight. “She had no way of knowing this plan.”

Still rubbing at his throat, the kid winced before answering in a scratchy voice. “I didn’t. I just saw you trying to leave after the Inquisitor went down to the ballroom and got a feeling. The way she talked about you, there’s no way you’d just be sitting around or leaving her behind. So…” He trailed off and shrugged.

Underneath his helmet, Kanan pressed his lips together. “And she was talking to you, an Imperial cadet, because…?”

The kid was still rubbing his throat and Kanan felt a twinge of embarrassment that he ruthlessly pushed down. “Because I was the one that was helping her out of her cell, because the Resistance is probably the only group in the galaxy right now that knows where my sister is,” Leonis said grimly. He looked up at Kanan, his hand falling down to his side where it curled into a fist. “My sister, Dhara — the Inquisitorius took her. I only joined the Empire to find out what happened to her in the first place. When I heard that a rebel had been caught, I knew I had to talk to her. Helping her was part of her price for helping me get to Dhara again.”

“And you know that the Resistance has her how exactly?” Kanan asked, stomping down on his sympathy as well. 

Leonis sighed. “That raid you did on their training facility was too large to be covered up, so their cover story about what happened has been that the Resistance went and kidnapped a bunch of cadets for some reason. They had to release their names and pictures so that the rest of the Empire would be on the lookout for them. That’s why I know you have her.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a comm and showed it to him. “I got Sabine an Imperial uniform and a comm, and found out where her friend Ezra was. She wouldn’t leave without him. Problem is, he’s with the Grand Inquisitor in the big mountain compound. I’m assuming since the alarm hasn’t gone out that she hasn’t been caught, but I haven’t heard from her either.”

Kanan grabbed the comm halfway through the kids’ speech and stared at it greedily. “She’s already out?” Then the rest of the kid’s speech hit. “Ezra’s in the Viszla Compound?”

Leonis nodded. “We were going to play it by ear, but the basic plan was that I’d come up with some excuse to get transport to her and her friend. With you here, though, I figured that that job might be a bit easier with your cooperation.”

Kanan’s fingers were trembling as he held the comm, his lifeline to his brilliant kids. “And you?” he rasped, unable to keep the emotion from his voice. “What do you get out of this?”

Leonis crossed his arms. “I go with you,” he said. “No ifs, ands or buts. I’m not being kept from my sister for one more second than necessary if I can help it.”

Nodding, Kanan lifted his fingers to the side of his helmet to call Hera through his helmet comms, relief pounding in his head. “No problem with that. Just let me call our ship, we’ll start setting this up. In the meantime, do you have a way for me to get out of here?”

Leonis looked him up and down thoughtfully. “It might take some sneaking,” he said, “but there might be a way.”

“Good.” Kanan depressed the switch for the comms, his chest bursting with hope —

Only to get static. 

What?

Another tap to switch the channels, in case it had somehow been left on another. The hope in his chest began to twist as again, all he got was static. Another quick tap, and the comm channel to the others in the building with him proved to be fine as he heard the tail-end of Mahhae disparaging another piece of the Empire’s decorations for the summit. Back to the channels to the people outside, though, and there was still only static.

Looking down at Leonis, Kanan saw the boy looking up at him expectantly. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Uh, kid, quick question — has it suddenly become Imperial procedure to set up comm jammers at political summits?”

Leonis looked confused and Kanan’s heart sank. “Not that I know of. Why?”

He let his hand fall back down to his side, gripping the comm to Sabine tightly in his other hand. “Because I’m pretty sure that there’s one set up here. I can’t contact my crew.”

* * *

Kallus took in a deep breath through his nose, held it for a few seconds and let it out before opening his eyes again and replying to the information he had just received.  
“You mean to tell me, ensign, that we have misplaced the medical equipment that was used in the raid on Resistance members?”

He had been meaning to sound calm. From the way the boy was quailing and leaning back from him, Kallus suspected that he had failed.

“I-I’m sorry, sir, we only just discovered the issue,” he said, trying to hand the datapad with the incriminating evidence to him once again with trembling hands. “It s-seems that one of the troopers that was supposed to collect it for possible evidence mis-labeled it. We — we believe that it was most likely taken to storage in the Concordian spaceport.”

Kallus ground his teeth. “You believe.”

The ensign looked like he was about to wet himself, but Kallus allowed himself to be a little impressed that he stood his ground. “Yes s-sir. It’s been a bit confusing with all of the dignitaries coming in and out, but the supply officer believes that the spaceport is the most likely location that it was shipped to.”

Taking the datapad, Kallus looked it over in lieu of saying anything else. Unbelievable, he silently grumbled to himself. Absolutely unbelievable. The Empire was supposed to be better than this.

Looking it over with a jaded eye, he was forced to grouchily admit to himself that the supply officer at least seemed to be on the right track regarding where the items had been taken. Mislabeled as old Imperial worker uniforms, the medical devices that had been used as bait for the disastrous raid of a few days ago had apparently been taken to the very oldest part of the Concordian spaceport for storage and later recycling. 

“Very well,” Kallus said, handing the pad back. “I will go and retrieve them then.”

“Sir?” The ensign looked confused. “It’s no problem at all to round up some troopers, we were just informing you —”

Kallus was already turning away, his stomach twisting in grim irritation. “Hardly. You and your superior’s department have had their chance and failed. Clearly, an agent’s supervision is needed for this if I am to have the evidence in good time. Inform your supply officer that I will be taking my own squad to retrieve the evidence.”

“I — okay,” the ensign whimpered, the last shreds of his temporary courage clearly fleeing him in the face of Kallus’ cold dismissal. “I’ll do that.”

Kallus didn’t dignify that last statement with an answer. Striding out of the meeting room in the supply depot, he headed purposefully towards the hangar. Concordia’s main supply depot was in one of the older buildings of the city, built decades before the Empire was declared. Unlike the easily defended blocks of the normal Imperial buildings, windows lined the walls, wide open and not even tinted to prevent prying eyes from looking in. It made his skin crawl, walking past them and knowing that at any moment some rebel could attack, could shoot any number of weapons into the building and these windows would do precisely nothing to stop it.

His stomach, already in knots, twisted further. He’d managed to push the results of the raid out of his mind, but that had only made room for other worries to spring back up from where they had previously been trampled down. 

The rebels. The boy from the cell. The Grand Inquisitor. 

Kallus clenched his jaw.

_You’ve talked to him. You’ve talked to Ezra. There’s no way you haven’t noticed his reaction to Inquisitors._

He was past the windows now, but the thoughts kept bubbling up like swamp gas on Nal Hutta. That boy — Ezra Bridger — and the look in his eyes as the Grand Inquisitor shut the door, blocking Kallus out from the room —

That familiar look of fear that he had seen before on the boy’s face, back on Lothal. It had taken a while to remember the boy’s face from that night at the farmer’s home, but once he had it had all come rushing back. The celebrations, the Grand Inquisitor disappearing and then reappearing, stinking of garbage and demanding that all of the bacta on the surface of the planet be recalled…

The farmer’s wife showing up in the ISB’s cells suddenly. The Grand Inquisitor looming over his shoulder, looming over the farmer, looming over the interim governor.

What was so special about Ezra Bridger? What was it about him that made the Inquisitorius so desperate to have him?

He should push these thoughts away. He should push them down. He had a long list of other things that he should be paying attention to, and yet every time he was between tasks the thoughts would bob back up, begging for his attention. Like right now, as he walked the short distance from the supply office to the hangar.

Entering the hangar, he let the sounds and smell of the busy area wash over him, lowering the buzz of his thoughts to a dull roar. Technicians were rushing back and forth between ships, shouting instructions at each other in a way that he should reprimand as an ISB officer, but he welcomed as a man. Slipping between people, he craned his head, looking for the shuttle and the squad of troopers that had been assigned to him for his investigation.

There. Over near the edge, the troopers were standing in a group, clearly discussing something. Possibly gossiping. Something that technically Kallus should reprimand them for, but — well. He remembered his own boys, back on Onderon, and it wasn’t like they were in the field.

As he walked over to them, though, dodging the various technicians and officers that thronged the hangar, he found himself hearing the tail-end of a conversation that seemed to be quite far from gossip. “— from the Grand Inquisitor himself. And he sounded pretty damn angry.”

The trooper that was speaking was hunched over and holding a datapad in both hands, slouched in a way that should have been trained out in the Academy that he attended. Kallus didn’t say anything as he arrived, though, being far more interested in the substance of what he had just heard.

“Pardon me,” he said, pausing to let the troopers settle down from where they had jumped in surprise at his sudden appearance. “Did I hear something about a message from the Grand Inquisitor?”

“Agent Kallus!” All four of the troopers stood up straight and saluted respectfully before the one that had been speaking before answered. “Yes sir, we just received a message from the Grand Inquisitor for you.” He pulled a datachip from his belt and slotted it into the datapad he was holding before handing it to him. 

Opening the document, Kallus quickly scanned it, his eyebrows shooting up at its terse tone. It seemed that the Grand Inquisitor was indeed angry, and as Kallus read on he found his own anger rising up to match it, his previous errand forgotten.

Bridger was gone. Snatched from right under the Inquisitorius’ nose by a rebel agent, one Sabine Wren. 

He wanted to snap the datapad over his knee. He wanted to shout and swear. He had left the boy — left Bridger in their care as ordered and then they had lost him again in a day! Not even! And once again, the Inquisitorius was relying on the everyone else to pick up the slack —

“Sir?”

Kallus raised his eyes from the pad and realized that his hands were trembling. The troopers in front of him had taken off their helmets and were looking at him in concern. “Yes trooper?”

Bald and wearing a command pauldron, the trooper shifted uncomfortably. “That was one of the stolen kids, right? The ones that the Rebels kidnapped?”

Kallus bit the inside of his cheek. “Yes,” he said stiffly, forcing his hands to loosen before the pad’s screen cracked. “It seems that the Inquisitorius is having some continuing trouble in keeping him safe,” he added inanely.

Gratifyingly, all of the troopers look upset at that. He was glad that he wasn’t not alone in feeling that. That boy — his scars — the Empire prized strength, but Kallus knew that walking on a broken leg only increased the damage. The boy needed care, not tough love after his ordeal at the hands of the Rebels. 

“Men,” Kallus said, drawing himself up to his full height, “and women,” he nodded at the single female trooper in the squad, “I want us on full alert. No doubt Wren will be trying to get Bridger off-planet as soon as possible, so we will be focusing our efforts on the spaceport. Jenkins, you’re in charge of communications in this squad, are you not?”

The short man, thin but muscular underneath his armour, nodded sharply. “With permission I can hook up to the main comms hub in the port, monitor for Rebel keywords. Wren or any of her buddies try to talk over the airwaves I can have their location in less than a minute.”

Kallus nodded. “Good. I’ll make sure you have that permission, just tell them that the ISB needs access. Volos, Starwind, I’ll need you to go ahead with Jenkins to discuss shutting the port down and reviewing their flight records.” He turned to the final member of the squad, the one that had first spoken up. “Calhand, you’ll be with me. I’m going to need to commandeer every trooper not currently involved in summit security and I want back-up. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” the troopers chanted, stuffing their heads back into their helmets. Turning, Kallus didn’t wait to see if they were carrying out their orders. They were the Empire, bringing order to a chaotic galaxy. They would follow their orders, just as he did, and bring Bridger and the rest of the children back into the fold safely or die trying.

* * *

It was a fatal flaw in most galactic buildings that their air vents were usually large enough to drive a speeder through. The air vents in the Imperial comms tower attached to Imperial headquarters on Concordia were no different. Crawling on her belly with sweat pooling between her shoulder blades, Sabine was glad that she was getting this small break at least.

Down below in the maintenance tunnels that Tarre’s tomb escape tunnels had attached to, all she had had to dodge was the occasional droid and a few roundhead patrols. Nothing difficult. As she had gotten closer and closer to the actual tower, however, things had become more difficult. That was when the actual supercommandos had shown up. 

“Did you hear something?” asked one of the members of the two man patrol below her, stopping in his tracks and looking around. Peering through the vent cover, Sabine held her breath, not daring to move. It was a supercommando, not a roundhead below her; they actually looked up. 

“Seriously?” The supercommando’s partner sounded exasperated. “You’ve been hearing things all day. Stop trying to make this more interesting than it actually is, you’re just making the time go slower.”

“I am not!” the first one said, stiffening.

Sabine rolled her eyes, beginning to breathe again. Maybe she was just being paranoid, if this was the best the Supercommandos had to offer. 

Regardless of competence, however, she waited until the two disappeared around the corner of the corridor and the sounds of their argument had faded entirely before removing the vent cover and poking her head out. Satisfied that the coast was clear, she slipped down and headed over to the door that lead to the main control room. 

With the assassination that would be going on, there was no doubt in her mind that the room was still occupied so that any calls for help would be jammed. In a moment of clear thinking on the part of the architects, however, none of the vents she could access out here lead in, meaning that she had no easy way in outside of the main door. With the room occupied, however, her uniform a mess after the tomb and her blaster mostly sacrificed on the journey here, just strolling in wasn’t an option. 

What could get people out of a room without question? A bomb would just get everyone’s attention for the wrong reasons, and leave her unable to keep the room sealed for protection. Sabine’s eyes scanned the hallway, her ears straining to hear footsteps. As she looked, though, her eyes fell on a small device sticking out of the ceiling.

A fire alarm.

…That could work. No one questioned a fire alarm. She’d just have to figure out how to trigger it.

What did she have left? After all it had been through, her blaster was just a chunk of metal. She could probably hit someone with it, but that was about it. She had Tarre’s helmet, but it was literally almost a thousand years old. Assurances of building things to last or no, she would not be trusting it to start a fire.

Pulling the blaster out, she looked it over. It would have been easiest to simply crack the tibanna gas canister and rely on a few sparking wires to set it off, but the power pack containing that item was several floors down below where she had first come out of the tunnels. So that plan was out. Maybe —

— Wait. What the kriff was she thinking? She looked over the hallway again, this time looking for one thing in particular. This place was laid out like every other Imperial comms tower so far, so that meant…

Yep. Right where it should be. Glancing between it at the vent that she’d been hiding in, she mentally measured the distance and judged that she should be able to get back to it easily enough before all the locks on the comms room doors disengaged. Just in case, though, she jumped up and shoved her bundle back into the vent before dropping back down. No need to be dealing with an awkward bundle getting caught on the lip of the vent as she tried to crawl back in.

With that done, she then walked over to the fire alarm pull station and pulled the switch.

The alarm shrieked like a dying droid, making her ears ring as she darted back and jumped into the vent just before the doors to the comms room opened, vomiting uniformed Imperials into the hallways as they rushed out, well aware that a drill would not be taking place today of all days.

Well. They were right, Sabine mused as she watched the Imps flee the hall beneath her. She hadn’t pulled the alarm as part of a drill.

After the last Imperial turned the corner at the end of the hall, she jumped down, bringing her bundle with her. In less than a minute she was in the comms room and locking the door behind her. 

The sound of the fire alarm was muffled as the door slid shut, leaving her alone with the rows of comm controls. Properly sitting down in a chair, Sabine let out a sigh and got to the business of accessing the building’s intercoms.

First, turning off the jamming that had been set up. Tapping the keys, Sabine scowled as she sent the command for the jammers to be turned off. It wasn’t unexpected, but it still bothered her, how the Empire was trying to keep all of this hush-hush. Viceroy Saxon had always claimed to be the champion of traditional Mandalorian values, and yet here he was, murdering his opponents in secrecy rather than openly challenging them. Penning them in like eopies to be slaughtered.

Well. Not while she had anything to say about it. Let him be seen as the Imperial dog he was. She sent the command with a savage strike of the keys. Now for the warning itself.

And of course, that was when she hit the first big stumbling block. Imperial communications of the sort that went through the big comms towers like this one were not made to be accessible by just anyone. Password protections were standard and changed daily, and while normally Sabine would have been able to eventually hack her way past that — the fire alarms had just been shut off.

Muffled as it was, the sudden absence of that awful whine sent a chill down her spine when it abruptly cut out. Sabine shot a nervous look over her shoulder as the silence filled her ears, knowing what it meant.

She’d have thought that it would give her more time to get through the systems as the tower was swept for signs of fire. Given how quickly it had been shut off, though, they’d obviously been smart enough to check which alarm was set off first. 

Smart Imps. Who’d have thought that they actually existed?

“Kriff,” she muttered under her breath, turning back to the monitor. She didn’t have time for hacking, now. She needed to hook up her own comms to the system and use that instead. Except, of course, her comms that she’d gotten with the Imperial uniform weren’t meant to be hooked up with anything but their charging ports.

Damn it. Damn it. She needed to do this fast. What comms did she have that would connect? She shifted in her seat to stand up, look for something that had been left behind when the bundle on her hip shifted heavily. 

…The bundle that held a Mandalorian helmet. That no doubt had an intact comms system.

No. No, the thing was over a millennium old! There was no way —

_Tarre grinned. “I made things to last.”_

Sabine chewed on the inside of her cheek. The silence around her was deafening.

Well, she’d come this far on the words of a ghost. Why not just go all the way?

Unwrapping the helmet, she carefully placed it down on the desk in front of the monitor. Then she knelt down underneath the desk and pried open the repair port. Pulling out a connector wire, she gave it a quick blow to get the dust off and then grabbed the helmet. It took a few seconds to find where she could plug the connector in; somewhere along the line the base design of a Mando helmet had changed, apparently. But soon enough, it was connected.

Holding the helmet aloft, Sabine looked at it for a long, long moment. The face of the helmet, the famous Mask of Mand’alor, stared back at her, black and red, unfeeling and unseeing. Looking at it, she was reminded of the old saying; “helmet on, heart gone”.

Well, not this time. It was her heart pushing her to put this on. It was her heart telling her to save her people. Taking a deep breath, she slid the helmet over her head.

It smelled of dust and smoke and things long dead inside, but the heads-up display flickered to life smoothly, showing that the connection was strong. Reaching up to the side of her head, she opened it up and began to speak.


	20. On a Crash Course

Luminara’s eyes were burning, and rubbing at them didn’t seem to help. 

Leaning back in her chair, she let out a sigh and sipped at the tea Gree had brought her. It was cold, bitterness sticking to the back of her throat in a way that seemed oddly appropriate.

She was so tired. So, so tired, like she was trying again to find a planet for the Order to hide on, in the days when that had still seemed like a possibility.

Behind her, the door to her room hissed open. Feeling the familiar presence, she grimaced to herself before turning around to greet him. “Quinlan. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

The tall, dreadlocked man, his hair gathered back in a long nerf-tail that spilled down his back, just grinned at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Now what have I done to deserve such a greeting?” he asked, flipping an errant dreadlock back behind his shoulder. 

Luminara just rolled her eyes. “Would you like the list alphabetized?” she asked dryly, but she didn’t turn back to her desk. With how here eyes were itching, a break couldn’t hurt, and despite her greeting she did still consider Quinlan a friend. 

Quinlan merely grinned and flopped down on top of her bed, tucking his hands behind his head. “Nah, you’re stressed enough with your investigation. I won’t make you write it down.”

Luminara frowned. “My investigation? You know of that then?”

Quinlan shrugged, his smile fading a little but not entirely. Pulling one hand out from underneath him, he rolled onto his side and fiddled with the edge of the pillowcase. “Everyone does. Well, not the details, but they know you’re investigating something.” He looked up at her and quirked an eyebrow, silently asking for details.

Sighing and leaning back in her chair, Luminara lifted a hand to rub at her temple. She had thought that she was hiding things well; she should have realized that her attempts at secrecy were no match for the Order’s love of gossip. “How much do they know?”

Stretching, Quinlan rolled back onto his back and raised a hand, starting to count off on his fingers. “Well, for starters, it has something to do with Master Windu’s collapse…”

Luminara didn’t quite manage to stop the groan that left her lips. Of course. Just what she didn’t want getting out. If the culprit knew that they were already suspected, they were no doubt getting rid of evidence as they spoke.

Quinlan craned his head. “So it’s true, then. Master Windu didn’t just collapse from exhaustion.”

She shook her head and looked at him with tired, gritty eyes. “No. Knight Nema found traces of a poison in his body. Not something that he was likely to ingest accidentally, either.”

Any trace of amusement fled from Quinlan’s face. “This was assassination attempt, then.”

Luminara pressed her lips together, her mind rebelling at even thinking the words — and then sighed. “Yes,” she said, the word dropping from her mouth like a stone. 

“…Kriff,” Quinlan finally said after several seconds of silence. “Kriff,” he repeated, staring up at the ceiling. 

Luminara didn’t reply. How could she? She had avoided thinking the words for so long, but now that they were out in the open like this, she found herself blinking back tears.

She loved the Order. It was everything that she had ever known. She believed its tenets, tried her best to live by its rules even in their exile, and had believed that at their cores the people around her had believed in the same things —

And yet. Someone had done the unthinkable, and tried to kill a member of the High Council. 

“Do you have any suspects?” Quinlan asked abruptly, turning over to fully face her. Half lifting himself up, one hand squished the pillow down while the other slipped under it.

Rubbing at her eyes, Luminara shook her head. “So far as I can tell, the criminal has been scrupulous in covering their tracks. The videos of that part of the hallway were deleted and overwritten, as were the last messages that Master Windu sent out —”

“What’s this?” Quinlan interrupted.

A little irritated at being interrupted during her answer, Luminara pulled her hands away from her face and let them fall into her lap. “What’s what?” she asked.

“This,” Quinlan said, but he was looking at her. He was looking down at the datapad that Jai had left behind earlier when he had come to visit, asking for her advice on how to deal with his fear of another survivor of Dromund Kaas. She’d be in the middle of going through data and had simply turned back to her work after he left, not noticing that he had left the device behind until hours later as she went to bed. She’d meant to give it back to him that morning, but it had slipped her mind.

Standing up, she held her hand out in a silent request for Quinlan to hand the datapad over. “One of the children, Jai; he’s been having trouble dealing with what happened at the Academy and was taking it out on another child. He was asking me for advice on how to deal with his feelings and forgot to take the pad with him when he was done.”

“Where did he get this pad?” Quinlan asked, not handing it over and still staring at it. His knuckles, she noticed, had gone very pale.

“I’m not sure; I think he’s been working with some of the other members of the Resistance in recycling, so probably from there. Why?” she asked carefully.

Quinlan was silent for a long time before answering, staring down at the pad in his hands. “Because this was Master Windu’s datapad,” he finally said, his voice strained.

…What?

“What?” Luminara said, straightening from her slump and echoing her own thoughts. 

“My ability,” Quinlan said. His hands were trembling. “The Force is showing me Master Windu owned this before your kid.”

Luminara didn’t bother to correct him on the statement of Jai being her kid. She snatched the datapad from Quinlan’s hands and turned it on, furiously tapping in the password that she knew Windu used for all of his things.

The pad unlocked, revealing a few games and a very full recycling bin. Opening it up, she saw the timestamped folders leading back to the day of Windu’s collapse.

Well. For all that the culprit had managed to do to the data on the cams, it seemed that they were far more careless with the datapad. Trolling through the files, she found several deleted messages. Only one was marked as going to the security terminal on Will of the Whills, however.

Eagerly, she opened it. This — this could be about who attacked Master Windu and why!

_To: Security Forces_   
_From: High General Master Mace Windu_

  
_To all security forces,_

_You are hereby under orders to detain one Master Taa of the Jedi Order for crimes against the Order and one Galen Marek of the Initiate rank. Do not attempt to do so without the assistance of a member of the Jedi High Council, as she is also under suspicion of having Fallen to the Dark Side. Once you have her location alert the High Council for assistance and keep her under surveillance._

_By the Order of Grand Master of the Jedi Order Mace Windu._

“Master Taa?” Quinlan whispered. “Crimes against an Initiate?”

Luminara jerked as she realized she had been whispering the message out loud. “This explains the attack, then. I remember that day, she had an appointment with him before his meeting with General Kleeve — she insisted on it just being the two of them, in fact.”

“But Master Taa — a crime against an Initiate —” Quinlan sat straight up on the bed, swinging his legs over the side and looking up at her beseechingly. “She was creche master back in the Temple, for Force’s sake!”

Luminara swallowed. “Master Windu would not make such an order lightly,” she said, “and she is part of the more conservative sector of our Order. They haven’t been happy about bringing the rescued children into the Order, I know — perhaps that is behind this alleged attack.”

“She taught Aayla the Code!” Quinlan cried. “I can’t believe that she would attack a youngling, regardless of where they had come from! Master Windu — does it say anything about the attack itself?”

Luminara exited the memo and went back to the recycling folder. They were lucky; it appeared that Jai had not had the datapad long enough to download much and overwrite the data. On the same day, there were several other documents, some more messages, and some notes…

She opened the notes that would have been from the meeting and looked them over. An attempt to reunify the Order, Taa had a suggestion — her lip curled as she saw the note ‘apparently believes children are the problem’ —

_REVANS CURE_

Her heart stopped as her eyes widened. 

Revan’s Cure. One of the darkest things the Jedi Council had ever done, back during the Thousand Years of Darkness.

Something that apparently Master Taa was doing to little Galen Marek, in the name of the purity of the Order.

“Well? Anything?” Quinlan said, looking up at her. 

She didn’t say anything. She just lunged for her comm.

She understood, now, Master Windu’s warning about Taa possibly having Fallen. To try and tear away the very core of a person, no, of a child’s memories and personality so that it could be replaced by some simulacrum of the perfect padawan — it was more a question as to how Windu thought she could possibly not be Fallen!

Force,and little Galen. Little Galen, who Luminara had urged Jai to make peace with…

She fumbled the comm, her fingers suddenly clumsy as she tried to turn it to the Council’s channel. She needed to warn the others. She needed to find Taa, before Jai stumbled across something he should not be seeing.

She cursed as she received no reply.

“They’re not answering?” Quinlan asked. Luminara looked up. He was no longer on her bed, but standing tall with his lightsaber unclipped from his belt and in a white-knuckled grip. 

“The line’s busy,” she explained hurriedly, also standing up. She reached out a hand and pulled her own lightsaber from the shelves where she had put it when she first sat down. “We’ll have to go to Council room, Obi-wan and Master Ti will most likely be there, I remember them saying something about going over rooming for the children —”

Even as she spoke, she was moving forward, smacking the button to open the door and darting into the hallway. Obi-wan and Ti — they’d know how to get in contact with everyone else and how to spread this around.

They’d figure out how to deal with this if it was the last thing Luminara did!

* * *

The Jedi Council was not answering the comm. Kleeve clenched his jaw and jabbed at the button again, and once more got only a busy signal.

This was ridiculous. He should stop trying to get through by comm and just go in person, he knew, but at the same time he also knew that such an act would most likely not be taken well. He wanted to reassure the Jedi that the Resistance wanted to work with them as partners, not master and underling. Marching uninvited onto one of their ships would not help with that, he reminded himself. 

So when he got the busy signal again, he only sighed and pressed the call button once more.

Yularen, who had been scrolling through his datapad, looked up from the screen and raised an eyebrow. 

Kleeve thinned his lips in irritation. “I hate being polite,” he said in explanation.

The eyebrow only rose higher.

Kleeve ignored it. Again, the busy signal.

“If I can say,” Yularen began, his tone careful, “sometimes continuing to just bull forward is not necessarily the correct path to take —”

Kleeve bit the inside of his cheek. “Director, I know that I only just sent out the message, but you have to have seen it. Do you really want to just leave things as they are between the Jedi and the Resistance?”

Yularen sighed. “Of course not, General. I’m only trying to say — well, you are aware that I was assigned to work with the Jedi, back at the start of the war, yes?”

“I’ve heard, yes.”

“Then you’ll know that the Jedi can be some of the most stubborn beings alive in the galaxy once they get something into their head.” He looked meaningfully at the busy signal hovering above the comms station. “If they aren’t answering, then they aren’t answering. Repeatedly calling them will not change that.”

“So what do you suggest, then?” Kleeve asked, frustration bubbling in his gut. “Simply leave things as they are, with our relationship still limping along with poison running in its veins?”

Yularen sighed again. “Hardly. I’m simply saying to give them some space, let them come to us.”

“Like they’ve done before?” Kleeve pointed out. “It’s been nearly twenty years since the start of the war, Director, and they’ve only just finally admitted why they’re so reluctant to work with us. Would you have us wait another twenty years before we actually start trying to fix this?”

Yularen gave up trying to look busy and put his datapad down, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t mean it like that,” he bit out, “I meant that you should wait until they come down for another meeting —”

The comms station let out a loud, sharp beep of warning. Looking over at it in confusion, Kleeve saw that there was an incoming message. Trading surprised looks with Yularen, he pressed the button to accept it. Had he worn the Jedi down?

A Twi’lek wearing a flight cap, her tattooed lekku arched tightly in worry, appeared. “General Kleeve! I’m glad to see you. This is Captain Hera Syndulla —”

“Of the Ghost,” Kleeve interrupted, a small twist of disappointment in his belly quickly being overwhelmed by worry. Syndulla and her crew, including Bridger, worked for Fulcrum, and the last he heard they were on a milk run mission to gather the medical prosthetics for the children. Why would she be calling the Resistance with such a frantic look on her face? “Is something wrong?”

“Very wrong.” Her face was solemn, her lips thinning. “Yavin Base is going to be attacked by the Empire.”

There was a long, long pause where Kleeve’s brain stuttered to a stop. An attack —?

“How do you know this?” Yularen asked, standing up abruptly. His chair screeched against the floor as it was knocked back and he came to stand beside Kleeve. “Where is your information coming from?”

“Me.” Syndulla was nudged aside, allowing a smaller figure to come into view. It was — Bridger? But wearing an Imperial worker uniform, and with what looked like a glorious bruise splashed across the opposite cheekbone from his scar. “It’s a long story but basically, the Grand Inquisitor showed up on Concordia and got a hold of me for a bit. Tried to do some mind stuff — tear out my bond with Kanan — but that meant that I got a peek at his head while he was in mine —”

“Wait wait wait,” Kleeve said, rubbing the bases of his horns, “what? You were captured by the Grand Inquisitor? I thought you were on a milk run!”

Bridger had the good grace to look sheepish. “Some — stuff came up. But my information’s good, I swear! The admiral in charge of the attack is some blue guy with red eyes —”

Blue with red eyes. Kleeve had squeezed his own eyes shut in exasperation and confusion, but they popped open at that description. “A high, prominent forehead as well? His hair slicked back?” He ignored Yularen’s curious look and looked intently at Bridger’s blue, flickering form.

Bridger looked at him oddly, blinking in confusion. “Uh, yeah. That’s him. The Grand Inquisitor called him admiral —”

“Thrawn.” Kleeve spat out the word from a numb mouth, horror suffusing his body. 

Thrawn. The strange alien from Wild Space that had simply appeared one day in an Imperial uniform, devastating the Empire’s enemies. His heart apparently as cold as his blue skin, Kleeve had only met him in person once during the celebrations of his conquest of Alderaan. 

Once had been enough. The man was utterly ruthless in his quest of providing the Empire its ultimate victory, to a point that made Kleeve’s stomach twist. His conduct at Batonn had just been one of the dozens of reasons for Kleeve’s final defection.

“I take it that you know this admiral?” Yularen said crisply, all business. “How dangerous is he?”

“Extremely,” Kleeve replied, letting his hands fall from his horns to curl into fists on the comms console. “He was responsible for Batonn and dozens of other Imperial ‘victories’.”

Yularen’s eyes widened for a moment at the mention of the slaughter before his surprise disappeared beneath a mask of iron efficiency. “Let me get the rest of Command.”

Kleeve nodded and the older man disappeared into the next room to gather the others. Refocusing on Syndulla, he peered closely at her. “How sure are you of the truth of this? Is it possible that it was purposefully shown to Bridger as a way to flush us out?”

Syndulla shook her head even as Bridger looked insulted. “The way Ezra described it, it was very much an accident. I know that you’ve read Knight Nema’s reports; he was trying to rip Ezra’s bond with Kanan out and replace it with himself, not play games.”

“And how, exactly, did Bridger manage to resist?” Draven asked as he stomped into the room, radiating disbelief and fear. He must have been just outside. “The last I checked even the Jedi didn’t think that he was a pushover.”

Kleeve hated the tone but he agreed with the words. He looked at Bridger for an answer.

Bridger grimaced. “It’s hard to explain. The Grand Inquisitor took me to this place, Compound Viszla or something? And it was weird — he said it was a Force nexus, a place where the Force gathers, and it’s been fighting the Empire because they were trying to loot the compound? Basically, it gave me some extra oomph and stuff so that I could kick him back out of my head.” He paused and rubbed the aforementioned body part. “Hurt like hell, though.”

“Never mind that. Trick or no, we cannot afford to simply stay here. The memory mentioned Yavin specifically, correct, Bridger?” Yularen said, managing to move in front of of Draven somehow without shoving him to one side.

“Yes,” Bridger said, his certainty clear in his tone. “He definitely named Yavin. He also said that they’d be ready to attack as soon as the Festival here is done.”

“Which is tomorrow,” Syndulla added smoothly before anyone could ask. She crossed her arms, her lekku twitching, arching and relaxing in a way that reminded Kleeve of someone nervously pacing. 

“Tomorrow —” someone in the crowd choked. “Could you have not gotten this to us faster?!”

Both Bridger and Syndulla bristled at that, but only Bridger snapped. “Excuse me? Sorry, I was little busy being held captive by the Grand Inquisitor! I kriffin’ told Hera as soon as I got here what was going on —”

“And we thank you for that,” Kleeve said hastily. Now wasn’t the time for arguments. “Did you manage to get any more details about the attack?”

Stiff and quivering with indignity, Bridger wilted slightly at the question and shook his head. “No,” he said, “that’s all I got before the connection ended and he gave me this.” He gestured towards the bruise on his face. “He was pretty angry about the whole resisting him thing afterwards, so he kind of just stormed off.”

Kleeve internally cursed. “You may have seen more than you think. How soon can you get back here?”

“Even if we left now, we wouldn’t be back long enough to do anything before the Imperials arrive,” Syndulla said. Her face was grim. “And we still need to extract some of our people.”

“Extract? From where?” Draven asked.

Before Syndulla could answer, something on her end beeped. Leaning slightly out of the holo, they could hear her curse before she swung back into frame, her eyes tight. “We have to go. This message is being traced.”

The call ended before Kleeve could say anything, the low whine of the electronics fading abruptly as the hollow fizzled out. He cursed low in his throat as the group behind him exploded into chatter, orders already being thrown around and people rushing out the doors. Leaning on the console, he hung his head.

Damn, damn, damn. How had they been found out? They had been so careful — no. No, now was not the time for such thoughts. They needed to come up with a plan to move their headquarters before the Imperials arrived.

A presence at his elbow made him lift his head. He couldn’t stop the grimace from crossing his face as he saw who it was. “Draven.”

“Kleeve,” the man said, his face stony. “I know we’ve had our differences, but we’re both going to have to bury our hatchets for this.”

“I’m well aware that we can’t afford splintering —”

“Neither can we afford to run away,” the man hissed, leaning in close. “If Yavin’s been compromised, who’s to say that our fallback bases haven’t as well? We need to figure out a new rallying point for the Resistance and quickly.”

Kleeve paused, realizing that Draven wasn’t wrong. “Why me? Surely there are others —”

“Because you’re all buddy-buddy with the Jedi,” Draven said, cutting him off. His eyes were cold. “They’ve been running around the Galaxy since the fall of the Coruscant. If anyone’s going to have a list of planets that the Imperials ignore, it’ll be them.”

“You want me to ask them about planets.”

Draven shrugged. “Like I said, they’ve been flying around for nearly twenty years. They have to have their own fallback point, or a series of them. They have to learn how to share.”

Kleeve raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You did read the report I sent around, right? They have more than a few compelling reasons to tell us to go kriff ourselves.”

“Yes, but we still have the children,” Draven said coldly. 

“I’m not going to threaten them, Draven.”

“You might have to,” he said, pulling back, “or we might all have the death of the Resistance itself on our conscience.”

* * *

Alright. He could do this. He could do this.

Standing in turbolift, Jai tried to keep his breathing steady and push away the fear that was twining around his throat like a hangman’s noose. 

He’d thought long and hard after his talk with Master Unduli. Long and hard about his fear, and long and hard about how to approach this. He’d been a dick to Starkiller — no, to Galen for a long time now. For things that he knew he couldn’t control. And that had been wrong, even if he was scared.

So he was taking Master Unduli’s advice, and he was going to make this right. He was going to apologize to Galen, and personally invite him to the next vid night.

He was going to do this, even if his knees were shaking. Even if he saw the dead bodies of the other kids in between blinks. He could do this. He could.

The turbolift door pinged and opened, letting in the dull white light of the ship corridors. Stepping out of the turbolift, Jai took in a deep breath and let it out. He was here. He could do this. 

It had taken a bit of asking around, but eventually he’d been able to find out where the other boy spent most of his time. Even when he was being given lessons, he apparently preferred to spend his time in one of the Jedi ships rather than down in the Resistance’s main base. Further questions had narrowed down things even further, letting him know that he seemed to enjoy the noise of the engine rooms. Jai didn’t see the appeal; just a few steps out of the lift and he could already feel the machinery making the floor underneath him shake.

The noise also made him wonder what lessons, precisely, that Galen had been getting. He’d talked a little with Master Unduli about Jedi stuff, and she’d always been emphasizing keeping a calm and clear mind. The engine rooms were supposed to be quieter, sure, but this vibration was pretty distracting by itself. Maybe he could ask about it, once he’d asked Galen to vid night.

Heck, maybe he could even ask Master Taa.

If she didn’t yell at him for hanging around, that is.

Jai bit the inside of his cheek at the thought of the woman. He didn’t make a habit of going near Master Taa; none of the kids did. The woman just seemed to radiate disgust and anger whenever they went near her, like they were some disgusting trash that she was forced to be in the same room as. Apparently, she had been some sort of child caretaker back when the Jedi had had a temple. 

Jai pitied the children she’d been in charge of.

But no. No. He was not going to let that intimidate him. Clenching his fists at his side, he straightened his back and tilted his chin up as he stomped down the corridor. Even if they were in the middle of a lesson, she had no right to deny him access to another one of the kids. She could scowl and huff all she wanted, he would talk with Galen and set things right.

Walking down the corridor, though, it was hard to keep up that resolve. He passed room after empty room, not seeing or hearing any signs of life. While the Resistance Base was a bit quieter than the parts of the Fleet that he’d already seen, it was still far from quiet. There were too many things to do or talk about, and no matter where Jai was he was never far from some sort of chatter or companionship. Even when he’d still been on Lothal, him and his mom had lived in Capital City, squished into a small apartment and surrounded by neighbours. Down here, though, there only seemed to be the low rumble and vibration of the ship’s engines.

It almost made him wonder if the Jedi that had told him where to find Galen and Master Taa had been lying and had just sent him to the engine rooms of the ship for fun. 

Just as the thought crossed his mind, though, he heard something at the edge of his hearing. Like two people talking. Relieved, Jai sped up his steps and headed towards the noise. 

As he got closer, though, he slowed down again and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Those voices, they didn’t sound like two people just having a conversation. No, they sounded — angry? But the Jedi didn’t get angry, did they? He’d never heard one raise their voice, at least. But this…

Coming to a stop in front of a door that the sounds of the — shouting match? — were coming from, Jai found himself hesitating. He didn’t necessarily like arguments, let alone getting in the middle of one. But neither did he want to be found like he was listening in on it when someone inevitably came storming out, and the shouting was getting louder…

_BZZT-HISS_

The unmistakable sound of a lightsaber igniting had Jai hitting the button to open the door. Why would someone have drawn —

The sight that greeted his eyes in the room paralyzed him where he stood.

Galen was on his hands and knees on the floor near the door, facing away from Jai and his shirt sticking to his body from sweat. In front of him was a tall human male with white hair pulled back in a topknot and some sort of cloth wrapped around his head. His lightsaber was drawn and ignited, held in what Jai could recognize as a guard position from watching the other Jedi practice. And across from the unknown Jedi —

Master Taa stood in a hunched, animalistic pose, her lightsaber also ignited but held loosely in her hand, its glowing tip almost dragging against the floor. She was glaring at the unknown Jedi furiously from underneath her lower brow with —

Jai’s breath caught in his throat.

— with the yellow and red eyes of a Darksider.

“Kid,” the unknown Jedi said in a low, tense voice, “grab Galen and run.”

“What —” Jai mumbled, his knees trembling and unable to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him, “what’s going on?”

“Not important right now, kid,” the Jedi said, his voice tightening further and rising in volume. “Just get Galen out of here!”

“But —” Jai obeyed anyways, stumbling towards Galen and reaching for him.

Only to freeze as Taa spoke for the first time since his entrance.

“Touch the boy,” Master Taa said, her calm tone at complete odds with the look on her face, “and you will join this traitor —” she sneered the word, “at the end of my lightsaber.”

A twinge of fear — the same fear that had haunted him for so long, that had been born on Dromund Kaas at the hands of the Inquisitors — rippled along Jai’s spine.

The Jedi shifted and raised his lightsaber a little higher. “And now you’re threatening the other children as well, Taa, just for trying to do the right thing? You’ve truly sunk lower than I could have ever expected.”

Taa didn’t reply. Instead, she flung herself forward with a snarl, her lightsaber ripping through the air towards Jai.

Only to be stopped by the other Jedi’s weapon. 

“Kid!” the Jedi snapped, his voice sounding strained as he fought to keep the lightsabers locked and at bay. “RUN!”


	21. Running the Kriff Away

Finally, thankfully, the kid got the message. Rahm felt his twisting, frightened light dart forward and grab Galen’s flickering one, starting to drag it away. 

In front of him, Taa snarled. Her lightsaber buzzed as she pulled the blade back and brought it crashing back down against his own, making him stagger back. The Dark radiating from her whipped around, sharp claws trying to slash and tear at his own Light. 

“Taa,” he said, twisting his blade so that they were caught in a lock, “think about what you’re doing. What you’ve done. Put the lightsaber down!”

“I have,” she said, her voice low and rough and cold in a way that Rahm had never heard from her before. “I’ve thought about this long and hard, Rahm. Now you’re my friend, so I’ll give you one chance to get out of my way and let me do my job!”

“Your job?” Rahm asked, incredulous. “You’re a creche master, you should be protecting Galen, not torturing him!”

Taa hissed and broke the blade lock. Rahm barely managed to duck out of the way of her follow-up swing, feeling the heat of the blade swishing by his scalp and smelling burnt hair. Jumping back, he heard her blade hum and only just managed to get his blade up in time to block an overhead strike. Their blades crashed against each other, making his hands ache and tremble.

Force, but he was out of shape. He’d let himself wallow in his own misery for years and now he was reaping the damage, just barely keeping the hot plasma of Taa’s lightsaber blade from cleaving through his skull. The scarred tissues that made up where his eyes had once been prickled and itched terribly but he couldn’t scratch at them.

“You don’t know what he did on Dromund Kaas,” Taa said, madness just barely covered by a veneer of calm in her voice. The Dark in her Force signature was twisting like claw-tipped tentacles, trying to find purchase in his flesh. “You may have been too drunk to listen, but I did. I heard everything that those little Darksiders did and so I took steps to protect our Order.”

“Protect our Order? Taa, are you even listening to yourself?” Rahm grunted, shifting his feet just a little so that he was less on the verge of falling over. “The Council said —”

“The Council? The same traitors that would throw away everything that the Order cherishes just to survive for another day?!” The madness that had just barely been covered by calm had suddenly thrown the covers off, letting its writhing, hissing form be seen. “The fools that allowed themselves to be swayed by their emotions and be taken in by the Darksider that failure of a Jedi found?” Again, she broke their blade lock, but this time she surged forward in a flurry of jabs, forcing him back and back and back through the door, his robes filling the air with the smell of smoke as they failed to get out of the way of the burning blade in time. He hissed himself as the smoldering edges caught on his flesh but pushed the pain away to a corner of his mind as he danced back, slipping into a Makashi stance to bat her away.

Where was all of this coming from? This ranting about Darksiders that made the cesspit surrounding her throb and twist like a diseased heart, it wasn’t the Taa he knew, the one that helped him as he recovered from years in the Inquisitorius’ hands. The Taa he knew —

“GRAH!” Rahm screamed as Taa’s blade slipped past his defenses and made a charred furrow along his left arm’s bicep. Only his experience as a Temple Guard managed to prevent her next jab from going through his heart. He staggered back, the too-familiar smell of burning flesh filling his nose and his eyes burning burning BURNING —

LIE DOWN, Taa’s mind bellowed in his. His knees nearly buckled from the sheer volume of the mental command, let alone the power behind it. DROP YOUR SABER AND LIE DOWN.

Rahm gritted his teeth and slashed towards where he felt Taa’s force signature. He didn’t feel it connect, but the pressure on his mind eased as she was forced to move back.

“Damn it, Taa, the kids didn’t join the Inquisitorius willingly!”

“Once you have touched the Dark, it will forever dominate you!” Taa snarled. “Master Yoda said so! History said so! Are you saying that you know better than generations of Masters?”

Rahm slashed his lightsaber through the air in a Soresu-style attack, not giving her an opening to attack again. His bicep ached and he shifted so that his injured arm was behind him and better protected. “I’m saying that mind-raping a traumatized child isn’t what someone who claims to serve the Light would do!”

“I was curing him,” Taa hissed, the sound of her own lightsaber whistling through the air starting up again. “I was cleansing him of the taint of the Dark Side as the Council did to Revan.”

What? “Revan is a youngling’s tale!” Rahm snapped, taking another slash at the Mikkian woman. “And the children were victims, not Darksiders!”

Taa laughed, low and harsh. “You truly do not know, then, what your precious boy did? What he was in the Inquisitorius.” She blocked his blow with ease, the shudder of it traveling up Rahm’s arm, and lunged forward. 

He failed to dodge again, just as he had with his arm. Twisting out of the way, he again avoided a killing blow but earned himself a charred furrow dug from his flesh. This time, though, instead of just his arm, the tip of Taa’s blade dragged against his scarred cheekbone, over his temple and through the top half of his ear. Another shout of pain left his mouth —

Only to be cut off by the sensation of a lightsaber blade sliding between his ribs. So hot that it curled back in on itself to cold, all the breath was stolen from his lungs as he tried to scream. Cold, hard fingers wrapped around his arm as his knees began to buckle, guiding him instead to slump over a bony shoulder, Mikkian head-fronds tickling his uninjured cheek.

His lightsaber clanked as it his the metal grating they were standing on. The cold fire of the blade in his chest filled his mind and had him clawing uselessly at the rough cloth of Taa’s robes. 

The hum of the blade faded and disappeared as it was turned off. Unfortunately, the pain didn’t, and Rahm found himself finally catching a grip on Taa’s robes just in time to keep himself from completely collapsing. As it was, though, he was teetering on the edge, sucking in little shallow gasps that made pain lance through him like liquid fire.

The hand that came up and caressed the back of his head was almost insulting in its gentleness. Her fingers played with some of the hair that had fallen from its bun during the fight, twisting the strands around her fingers and then smoothing them out as she spoke softly in his ear, the veneer of calm pulled back over the madness.

“He joined the Inquisitorius before the rescue,” she said, her voice gentle and almost sympathetic if it weren’t for the underlying growl. “He killed the other students at his Master’s command. Such a youngling could never be a part of our Order.”

Rahm wheezed, clawing at her back. The place in his chest where her blade had struck home was like a star, pain radiating from it like sunbeams. 

It almost matched the pain in his heart that he felt as Taa continued to speak. 

“So I have been making a new youngling. One untouched by the Dark.” She shifted, sending a fresh wave of pain through him that stole his ability to even think of breathing. She stopped playing with his hair and lowered her hand to his back where its partner was waiting, beginning to lower him to the ground. “The Council will see that my methods are sound once I am done with him.”

“Y-you’re crazy,” Rahm wheezed. “Taa, stop this, the Council will never —”

“Hush,” she said, tugging his body just a little so that it was back in the room where they started. “This is no longer your concern.” There was a rustle, and then a heavy cloth was being placed on top of him. A blanket?

He could hear her getting up. He heard the sound of a lightsaber igniting.

“Taa,” he rasped. It hurt so much, but he managed to raise an arm towards where the sound of the lightsaber igniting had come from. “Taa, no. They’re children. This is madness!”

“It is necessary,” Taa replied, her voice frighteningly serene. And then she began to walk away.

“Taa,” Rahm moaned, forcing himself to roll onto his side, “Taa, no! Don’t do this!”

But he got no answer. She was gone.

No. No, he couldn’t let this happen. Not to Galen. Not to any of the children. Focusing on his breathing, he began to push the pain away. There was a comms system down here. He needed to use it, needed to alert the Council, anyone of what Taa was doing before it was too late. 

It hurt. It hurt so bad, like when he had first lost his eyes to an Inquisitor’s lightsaber. But he had survived that, and he would survive this.

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, struggling to breathe, Rahm rolled himself over onto his stomach and began to crawl towards the doorway he’d been dragged through. He had to warn someone. Anyone. He had to save the kids…

* * *

“Oh man oh man oh man oh man —” Jai chanted to himself as he ran down the ship’s corridors, Starkiller — no, Galen a half-supported weight on his shoulders. His feet slapped loudly against the metal floor as his breaths rasped raggedly out of his throat.

What the hell had that been? What had that woman — Master Taa, what had she been doing to Galen? Why had that other Jedi been fighting her? Why did she have the eyes of a Darksider?!

Galen’s head lolled on his shoulder, his eyelids fluttering to only reveal the whites of his eyes. There were red marks in the corners of his mouth, his chin and cheeks shiny and slick with trails of drool and tears. 

Jai’s stomach flopped uncomfortably. Whatever had been going on — it hadn’t been good. Hadn’t been right. He knew that as a fact, not a feeling. Master Taa had been doing something bad to Galen.

If this had been even a week before, Jai probably would not have complained. In some secret, petty and cruel corner of his heart, he might have even been glad. But now, after talking with Luke, after talking with Master Unduli and really truly forcing himself to think about everything that had happened in that tower —

Now he just felt sick. 

Reaching the turbolift, Jai slowed and smacked the button to call it, his lungs burning. On his shoulder, Galen mumbled something and stirred. The fluttering of his eyelids slowed and strengthened, becoming blinks that revealed the dazed blue of his irises. 

“Wuh,” he mumbled, shifting so that he wasn’t leaning as heavily on Jai. “Wus goin’ on?”

“Uh, y’know what, you’d probably know better than me,” Jai said in a high-pitched voice. He pressed the button for the turbolift again.

Galen shook his head slowly and stood up a little more straight. “N-nuh,” he slurred, “wur am I? I need — I need —”

Jai hammered the button, his gut flip-flopping like some sort of gymnast. What had Master Taa been doing to him? Hadn’t anybody noticed?

 _Why would they_ , said a nasty voice that sounded too much like himself. _You made sure no one was close enough to him to know if something was wrong_. 

Galen twisted and tugged at his arm, looking confused. “I need t’go back,” he slurred, blinking slowly. “Master Taa was fixing me. She was fixing me and making the bad parts go ‘way.”

Jai’s stomach stopped flipping and went straight into free-fall. “What?”

Galen blinked again, sleepy and childish. “The bad parts,” he mumbled. “The parts tha’ everyone hates. Th’ parts th’ Academy put in me.”

Jai’s stomach hit terminal velocity. “The bad —” His throat tightened. “I — is this because —” Of me? Of the nasty things I said, of how I kept you from being included in things?

Galen still looked dazed. Craning his head, he looked around, his forehead puckering in concern. “Mas’er Taa said she’d make me better,” he said. “She’d make me better, make me a proper Jedi.”

Swallowing, Jai hit the button for the turbolift for yet another time, wishing that the damned thing would come faster. “I don’t —” damn it, why was his voice so high? “— I don’t think Master Taa has the authority to do that, Galen.” The other boy was still tugging at his hand. Jai squeezed it.

Galen looked at him, his forehead only puckering more. “When you star’ callin’ me my name?” he asked. “You always call me Starkiller like Eighth Brother did…”

Finally, finally, the turbolift beeped. The doors opened just as the back of Jai’s throat began to burn with bile and without a word he began to drag Galen in with him. He didn’t trust himself to speak; not with that reminder of who else called Galen by the name Starkiller. He tried to tell himself that he was not like the Inquisitor but even his head the words sounded weak. Had he not tried to take away Galen’s identity? Take away his name and the boy that bore it?

Memories of the tower began to bubble up in his head, squirming like live fish in a pot of boiling water. The ‘sparring matches’, where they weren’t allowed to stop until one of them was dead. The tiny cells where they slept with one eye open, praying that they weren’t visited for ‘fun’ with the guards. The Red Room, where whispers scratched inside of their skulls…

Jai gritted his teeth and manhandled Galen a little more firmly into the turbolift. He shook his head, trying to banish the memories.

Luckily, even with his confusion Galen didn’t fight being dragged into the lift. Leaning him up against the wall, Jai turned back towards the front of the lift to hit the button and froze. 

There, at the other end of the hallway, stood Taa. Her face was calm, and she was standing straight up rather than hunched over like an animal, but her lightsaber was humming at her side and Jai knew, just knew that her eyes were still gold and crimson.

Jai began hitting the button to close the turbolift doors as hard and fast as he could.

The doors began to close, but not fast enough. Old and poorly-maintained, they inched closed in jerky, aborted lunges, the electronics whining with the effort.

Taa moved, flowing like the waters of a flashflood on Lothal’s plains, surging forward in a movement that seemed slow but ate up the space separating them. Her robes flew up around her like wings and she shot down the corridor towards them, radiating predatory menace.

Jai hit the button harder, faster, but it didn’t matter. Just as the door was three-quarters of the way closed, she reached them and stuck the hand holding the lightsaber through. The lightsaber buzzed loudly in the small space, but it wasn’t needed to cut through anything.

No, the automatic sensors on the door did all the work for her. With a soft chime to indicate that a blockage had been detected, the door stopped and began opening again.

Taa was halfway through before the door had entirely opened. Strangely silent, she pushed against the door, pulling herself through the space with her other hand on the doorway. Scrabbling back against the wall of the lift, Jai whimpered as her face became visible, her red and gold eyes locked on him and her blade twisting through the air. 

Twisting towards him. Jai ducked and felt the heat of the lightsaber as it passed by his head, so hot that he thought his skin would blister. The metal wall hissed as it was heated red-hot in an instant.

Jai surged away from the wall as the door finished opening up, letting her in properly. Taa slashed again, following him with her blade, but Jai hadn’t survived so long on Dromund Kaas without knowing how to stay ahead of a lightsaber. He ducked again and again the awful hiss of superheating metal filled the air as he grabbed the front of Galen’s shirt and dragged him through the door, back out into the hallway. 

“Child,” Taa hissed, her voice dripping with poison. Dripping with hate.

Jai didn’t stick around to reply. 

The same strength that had so often filled him at the Academy filled him now as he ran down the corridor, Galen heavy in his grip. Riding the line between terror and focus, Jai sprinted down the corridor and turned, the walls blurring around him and his heart thundering in his chest.

Where could he go? Where could he hide here? His eyes bounced around as he sprinted through the hallways, sweat trickling down his back. Behind him, he could hear the rapid tap-tap-tap of Taa running after them. Galen was no help, his legs and feet dragging against the ground —

There! An open door, the sound of rumbling engines spilling out. Jai swerved and ran to it.

He was met with the dull glow of red lighting and the sounds of machinery. Metal shafts stabbed up and down through the air, making great cog wheels turn, their teeth catching on each other and generating the power that made the ship hum around him. 

Still half-carrying Galen, Jai didn’t hesitate to duck into the forest of moving metal in front of him. The heavy, pounding shafts of metal and tearing gear-wheel teeth were so close he could feel the heat coming from him, but he didn’t flinch. It was far from the most dangerous thing he had done — that honour went to a particular obstacle course at the Academy that went through the jungle outside — and most likely faster than any fate a Darksider would give him. 

He couldn’t hear Taa’s footsteps anymore. Still, he plunged deeper into the machinery, slipping through them without coming close to touching them. Galen was thankfully not struggling against him, seeming to have become aware enough that he knew it wasn’t a good idea here, but from what he had been saying back at the turbolift, Jai wasn’t sure how long that would last. 

Okay. He could hide here. Now what?

* * *

Luminara’s heart was pounding in her ears as she marched down the corridors to the Council meeting room, Jedi and trooper alike taking one look at her face and getting the kriff out of her way.

Revan’s Cure. Revan’s Cure, being applied to a child! How had they missed this? How could they have possibly missed such abuse being inflicted on a child in their care?

Three hundred children, thousands less than what they had during the reign of the Old Republic, and they had missed one of their initiates being mindraped into becoming an entirely different person. They outnumbered the children several times over, for Force’s sake! This never should have happened!

 _But it did_ , said a nasty voice in the back of her head. It sounded like Barriss. It happened, just like with Barriss, because they were arrogant. Because she and the Council had made a pronouncement and expected everyone to follow it and never bothered to actually check.

Quinlan, trotting behind her, put and hand on her shoulder. “Deep breaths, Lumi. We all messed up. Any one Knight could have stopped her at any time if we just payed attention.”

Luminara clenched her jaw. “We can hardly expect others to pick up the slack we were too busy for,” she said, unable to keep the bitter self-recrimination from her tone. “We should have known —”

“That one of our own would resurrect an ancient crime against sentience?” Quinlan asked, his soothing tone not hiding the worry underneath. “No one could have predicted that.”

“Any type of abuse,” Luminara replied. She stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes in case his sympathy would have her swallowing back tears of shame. “We knew that her and the group she’s a part of were not happy with us taking the children in without question, and yet no one was concerned when the children started talking about her giving lessons to a particular youngling? That was an inexcusable oversight on our part.” She ducked her head as they entered the hallway leading to the meeting room. “Not to mention another might be in trouble now as well.”

“Jai,” Quinlan said understandingly. “Look, no one gets over the sort of fear you described in a night. It’ll probably still be a while before he goes near Marek. Just focus on one thing at a time.”

Then there was no more time to talk. Luminara strode stiffly through the door to the council meeting chambers with Quinlan on her heels and Master Windu’s lost and now found datapad held tightly between both hands. “We have a problem.”

Master Ti and Kenobi looked over their shoulders from the holoprojector they were standing in front of but didn’t move, blocking her from seeing what they were looking at. “Master Unduli,” Master Ti said. “Good timing. We were about to call the rest of Council.”

“So was she,” Quinlan said. His voice and face were serious in a way rarely seen on the jovial Jedi. “She’s found something very disturbing.”

“We need to track down Master Taa,” Luminara said, taking over again as she reached the projector. “Immediately.” 

“Master Taa?” said a familiar voice, distorted by an electronic crackle. 

Luminara paused and looked down. The blue and flickering figure of Nema, standing with a short child half-hidden behind her and clutching at her skirt, met her eyes. The child was nervous, her dark hair brushing her shoulders, and Nema’s face was grim.

“Master Taa?” Nema repeated, her eyebrows pulling together in a frown. “May I ask what your business is with her?”

Luminara hesitated, remembering abruptly the casual friendship the two Jedi shared. How would Nema take this betrayal, of finding out that her friend had become a monster?

Nema’s frown deepened. “Does it have anything to do with Revan’s Cure?”

A jolt ran through Luminara, and despite her usual control she knew that the answer to the other woman’s question was plain on her face. Struggling to pull it back under control, she leaned forward and frowned back at Nema. “How do you know of that?” she asked.

Kenobi, ever the peacemaker, intervened before a worrying thought could even begin to run across her mind. “Knight Nema was just telling us of something that she’s heard from one of the children,” he said gently. “Something that is quite worrying.”

“Young Tharassa here just found the courage to alert me to a case of abuse,” Nema said without preamble. Her small flickering figure had reached back and was squeezing the now-named Tharassa’s shoulder comfortingly. “Apparently, our dear Master Taa has been trying to apply Revan’s Cure to young Galen Marek for quite a while now under the excuse of ‘lessons’.” Her lip curled.

Luminara felt her own face mirroring Nema’s expression. “Well then, it looks like I’ve found some corroborating proof.” She pulled the pad our from under her arm and gave it to Kenobi and Ti. Kenobi took it and and began to look it over, Ti peering over his shoulder. Both of their eyes widened as they read further until finally Ti looked up. 

“This is Master Windu’s datapad,” she said. “I recognize his shorthand. Where did you find it?”

Luminara folded her hands into her sleeves. “One of the children had it. Jai Kell. He was working with the Resistance recyclers and was told he could take it since it was in such good condition.”

“Force,” Kenobi whispered, dragging his eyes from the pad. “This — this message to the security forces was the last message sent.” He looked between Luminara and Quinlan. “What do you think are the chances of this being connected to Master Windu’s collapse?”

A chill ran down Luminara’s spine and she looked at Quinlan. He had touched —

He was looking back at her. “I looked into the item’s past when I touched it and Master Windu’s trace was strongest but…” He hesitated, then held out his hand. “Let me look again? I was too surprised by the original owner to look too closely, and then we saw his note…”

Kenobi handed it back without a word. Quinlan took it and his eyes unfocused, looking at something that was not visible with just one’s eyes. Luminara felt the Force shift, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as Quinlan shifted his vision to look into the past rather than the present. His mouth moved with breathed words, his eyes flicking around in their sockets — and then he snapped back to himself. With a shudder that shook his entire frame, he nearly shoved the pad back into Luminara’s hands, raising a hand to his mouth like he was about to vomit. 

“She did it,” he breathed. “She attacked Master Windu and stole the pad to hide what she did — what she was doing…” He shuddered again, his eyes squeezing shut.

Luminara traded looks with Kenobi and Ti again, a silent conversation taking place between them in the space of a second. Kenobi wheeled on his heel and began to head towards the door. “I’ll alert the troopers. If you two can pass it on through the other masters, knights —”

“No.” Quinlan still sounded nauseated, but his voice was firm. “This is not something that the troopers will be able to handle.”

“Quinlan,” Luminara said, reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, “I know that you are not fond of the clones but they are far more —”

Quinlan shook his head so vehemently that his locs snapped through the air like whips. “No, you don’t understand. What she’s done, that’s not something that a Jedi can do.” He turned and looked pleadingly at her. “She has Fallen, and does not even realize it.”

Luminara froze, her mind twisting in memory of another woman, also Fallen, her face twisted in hideous rage as the troopers took aim —

Ti’s hand was cool on her wrist. “What do you mean by that, Knight Vos? How can she not know that she has Fallen?”

“I —” Quinlan raised his hand to his mouth again and visibly swallowed. “You recall the stories about Revan’s apprentice? Their other apprentice, the Exile? And their adventures?” He shook his head again, less violently this time. “She is like Atris. So utterly convinced of her own purity, of her righteousness that she would destroy the Order itself in the name of keeping it strong and pure. She will kill anyone trying to stop her from continuing her crimes.” He looked at them all. “The troopers would not stand a chance. Only Jedi would be able to take her down.”

Luminara looked at Kenobi, who was rubbing at his mouth. “The troopers would be touched to hear your concern,” he said, “but if it does come to fighting they’re suppressive fire could be instrumental in taking her down quickly.”

“They’d just get in the way,” Quinlan insisted. “Not to mention you know that she’s a part of the faction that hates them. The others would not be happy to see you bringing a bunch of them into their territory.”

Kenobi drew himself up, echoing the stiffening Luminara felt in her own spine. “Their territory?” he asked, his voice losing its warm, concerned tone. “This is the Jedi fleet. Idealogical differences or no, I am hardly about to let one small group of Jedi dictate the actions of the Jedi Order’s High Council, thank you very much.”

“Besides which, I rather think that Taa’s actions in the name of purity has undercut any authority they might hold when it comes to the direction of the Order,” Luminara said bitingly. 

“Master Unduli is correct,” Master Ti said. Turning back to the holoprojector, she nodded to Nema. “Thank you, Knight Nema and Tharassa, for bringing this to our attention.”

“I only regret that we were not able to reassure Tharassa enough for her to come forward earlier,” Nema replied, giving Tharassa another one-armed squeeze. “I assume that movement in the Fleet will be restricted until her apprehension, so we will stay down here.”

“Understood,” Ti said, bowing her head. “And Tharassa?”

The girl, still half-hidden behind Nema, craned her neck nervously around Nema’s side.

Ti bowed. “Our thanks for bringing this to our attention,” she said. “Your courage will be remembered.”

The girl ducked her head and burrowed further into Nema’s side in lieu of saying anything. Nema shifted and brought her other arm around to properly hug the girl and looked up at them, her face grim. “Don’t let her get away,” she said.

“We won’t,” Luminara vowed. “She will never hurt anyone else again.”


	22. Ballroom Blitz

It was so quiet inside of the ballroom that you could have heard a pin drop. The last words of warning seemed to echo inside of Fenn’s head, stopping him from breathing.

A lie — assassination — 

Looking up to the second floor, Fenn could see that the roundheads were seemingly stunned as well. Looks were being exchanged, and while most of them were holding blasters, none of them were pointed down at them.

Yet.

Keeping his lips as still as possible, he muttered to Mahhae and Fokkay, “Start moving to the door. We need to get out of here before the shooting starts.” For a moment, he wondered if Jarrus had managed to make it out. Then he pushed the thought away. They needed to save themselves first before they could start thinking about saving others.

“Got it,” Mahhae murmured, starting to move.

And that was when everything went to hell. One of the roundheads down on the ballroom floor with the rest of them raised his blaster rifle and pointed it at Lloj Ordo, who was staring up at the Imperials above with a look of disbelief. One of the his bodyguards, however, was paying attention. Rather than raising their own, unpowered blaster, they pulled a knife out of a hidden compartment in their thigh armour and hurled it right into the roundhead’s throat. It sank home with a wet, meaty thud. The roundhead began to collapse with a gurgle, but as they did their hand spasmed on the trigger of their blaster. Falling, their shot went wide. It didn’t hit Ordo, or any of his bodyguards. 

It did, however, manage to slam right into the head of the Imperial bureaucrat that had been uselessly babbling at the man before the message came through. With a wet crack, his head jerked to the side, part of his skull disappearing and leaving behind the smell of burning pork.

The sound of the bureaucrat hitting the floor was the starting bell for the room to fall into chaos. Screams and shouts erupted all around Fenn and his two people as bureaucrats tried to run and his fellow Mandalorians tried to fight. 

Up above, the roundheads seemed to pull themselves together at the sight of one of their own hitting the ground. Pulling up their rifles, they began to fire into the crowd.

Down below, people began to scream as the bolts started to slam home into flesh. The Mandalorians that weren’t already engaged in combat dove for cover behind pillars. Others flipped several of the long buffet tables that had been set up along the edges of the ballroom and jumped behind them, dragging their unarmoured alors with them.

Fenn was unfortunately one of them; the roundtroopers, in an unusual display of intelligence, were concentrating their fire around the door out of the ballroom.

Slamming into the marble floor, Fenn immediately began looking around for a weapon. On either side of him, Mahhae and Fokkay began to load their guns, cursing as the table shuddered and cracked from the shots slamming home into it. 

The area was disappointingly empty of spare blasters. Plenty of shattered plates and knives, but those were useless in this type of fight. 

There was a sharp crack and part of the table above his head exploded into splinters. Grimacing, he slid a little lower and peeked through the hole left behind by the blast. 

They were holding up fairly well back here, despite the relative fragility of their shield. The roundheads’ training was nowhere near Mandalorian standards, and it showed; for every bolt that actually hit the table and not the floor, one of theirs hit flesh. However, even as a roundhead slumped and fell over the railings of the balcony, he saw more coming through the entrance up there. 

Gritting his teeth, he pulled back and looked around again; surely there was something —

A sharp whistle caught his attention. Looking around, he spotted who had made the sound.

Bo Katan Kryze, crouched on one knee with a pale, freckled leg poking out of her high-slitted dress, made a sharp gesture at him while holding a slim blaster that looked more Nubian than Mandalorian. 

Her nose crinkling in irritation, she made another sharp, beckoning gesture at him. Suppressing the jolt of irritation, he obeyed, thinking that she maybe had spotted something.

As he came closer, though, she shoved the hand that she’d been gesturing with under his nose. Crossing his eyes, he saw a tiny hold-out blaster in it.

“Don’t complain,” Kryze warned, peering over the top of the table and ducking back down as a shot whizzed through the air near her head. “It’s all I’ve got.”

“Wasn’t going to,” Fenn said, snatching it from her and quickly checking its fuel levels. Full. Perfect. Poking his head up above the table, he squeezed off a few shots and managed to hit two of the roundheads accurately enough to make them stagger off. One was then hit by a shot from someone hiding behind one of the pillars and fell, but the other merely shook it off and came back to the railing, their armour absorbing most of the shock. Fenn grimaced. “I wouldn’t say no to something with more stopping power, though.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Kryze snapped. Her shot hit the trooper that he’d pushed back, putting him down for good. “I’m surprised at you, though, coming to one of Saxon’s parties without a weapon.”

“You were there when he demanded the map of the Viszla compound; do you really think that he’d let me near him with a weapon?” Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned. They were near one of the entrances to the stairwells that lead up to the balcony, and some roundheads had taken advantage of that to try and sneak up on them. Two peeled off and began to head towards them while the others headed the other way. Switching targets, Fenn squeezed off two bolts and was gratified to see both of the soldiers coming towards them go down immediately. This close, at least, the holdout blaster had enough power to actually stop someone.

“Hardly,” Kryze said, turning towards the already-down troopers. She raised her pistol once she saw that they weren’t moving, apparently satisfied by his shooting, and turned back towards him. “I’m surprised you didn’t convince your people to carry something extra though. Gathering everyone together like this — it was never going to end well, assassination attempt or no.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you were pulling something and wanted him to think that you were entirely cowed.”

Fenn knew that the way his lips tightened was answer enough. Turning, he popped over the top of the table and squeezed off a few more shots. The room was littered with bodies now, most gratifyingly only wearing Imperial uniforms. He couldn’t see how many of the Mandalorians were left after the hail of blasterfire — they were either hiding behind pillars or — 

A roar of pure rage cut through the noise of a battle like a plasknife through flesh, making the shots stutter to a stop. A figure in green armour suddenly flew through the air, slamming into the ground with a choked-off cry before rolling over towards them, their helmet missing, and revealing that everything below the elbows on their arms was missing. Their blonde hair flopped over their forehead, framing a set of terrified blue eyes.

Then there was the unmistakable sound of a lightsaber igniting. Looking up, Fenn watched as the dark-armoured figure of the Inquisitor that had forced them to send Jarrus away jumped down from the balcony above, apparently having jumped up when the shooting started. 

The marble audibly cracked underneath him as he landed with a snarl, his red blade reflecting dully off of his black armour. The warrior — a boy, Fenn could now see — froze and whimpered as the Inquisitor straightened and raised his blade above his head, pointing downwards.

Fenn realized what the Inquisitor was doing a split-second before the Inquisitor slammed his blade home through the boy’s chest. His fingers felt thick and clumsy and he couldn’t seem to aim his blaster in time. The boy screamed, his eyes wide and what was left of his arms stretched out in front of him beseechingly. Then he coughed. Trembled. And fell still, the light fading from his eyes. 

The Inquisitor straightened again, baring his sharp, triangular teeth and swinging his lightsaber behind him, igniting the second blade. “Surrender,” he hissed, the word oddly accented. 

A heavy hand grabbed his shoulder and dragged him back from the table as a muscular, armoured form put itself between him and the Inquisitor and started firing. Mahhae and Fokkay.

Snarling, the Inquisitor began to deflect the blasts, even as Kryze’s bodyguards joined his own. Kryze was shoved back to his side as well, her blaster held in a white-knuckled grip.

Fenn looked around the room. They needed to get out of here yesterday. He wracked his brains; he’d been here often enough when he was begging Saxon to tell him where his nephew was, he knew the layout. Where —

His eyes zeroed in on the doorway nearby that lead to the staircase. There — it would lead to the troopers upstairs, but the narrow confines would prevent the Inquisitor from using their blade effectively. And — he glanced up to the balcony — the troopers up there were taking fire. It seemed that he wasn’t the first one to have the same idea. 

Grabbing Kryze’s shoulder, he leaned over to hiss in her ear while keeping one eye on the Inquisitor. The others had joined back in, all of them focusing their fire on the Inquisitor and keeping him pinned down. “We need to head towards the balcony stairwell. It’s the only way out of here without having to go through him,” he said, pointing.

Obligingly, the Inquisitor roared, a seeming shockwave of force flying from an outstretched hand. The pillar the hand was facing cracked with a sound that blended in with the blaster shots whizzing through the air and two armoured figures were flung back, hitting the wall hard and slumping down, unmoving.

“It won’t be easy, unless you’re forgetting the roundheads up there,” Kryze said, but her tone wasn’t argumentative. 

“They’re already taking fire. It’s our best chance.”

The Inquisitor roared again and flung his lightsaber at an unfortunate Imperial bureaucrat that had survived the first few minutes and was now trying to sneak out through the main doors. The sound of the upper and lower halves of his body hitting the ground were more imagined then heard over the chaos, but Fenn saw Kryze grimace out of the corner of his eyes.

“Agreed,” she said hurriedly as Fenn opened his mouth again. “Warriors! With me!”

“Fokkay, Mahhae! Head for the stairwell!”

As one they moved, Fokkay and Mahhae in the back and Kryze’s people in front, laying down covering fire for the two unarmoured in their midst. As they passed over the two troopers that Fenn had shot down he scooped up one of their blasters, shoving the holdout blaster into one of his jacket pockets. 

Kryze glanced back at him and raised an eyebrow, a few strands of red hair sticking to her forehead. “Mine not good enough for you?”

Fenn snorted as they squeezed into the narrow stairwell, quickly checking the blaster’s fuel levels. “I wanted one with more power, thanks. I saw my chance and I took it.”

She scoffed but didn’t say anything more, thankfully. Hefting her own blaster, she squeezed out a shot over his shoulder. He heard a cry behind him. “Just make sure you actually use it,” she said.

Up ahead, a dark figure appeared, a red lightsaber in their hand. He raised his rifle and squeezed out a shot that had the figure crumpling into a pile with one smooth motion. “Don’t worry,” he snarked. “I’m used to shooting at people who can actually fight back.”

She glared, but didn’t say anything. Fenn felt a little bad, but didn’t apologize. Maybe his comment wasn’t called for, but neither had hers been. 

Up at the top of the stairs, they found that his guess of there being others up here was correct. The green and grey armours of House Shysa and Ordo were crouched down behind toppled chairs and planters, trading fire with a set of roundheads guarding the door out of ballroom. Their House Heads were with them, also holding weapons that they weren’t supposed to have. Fenn allowed himself a moment of amusement as they all ducked and took cover alongside the Ordo and Shysa warriors; he really was the only one that had taken the ban on weapons seriously, it seemed. 

Fenn Shysa, one arm of his suit soaked in blood, glanced over at him and gave a quick nod. “Whichever one of you took out that Inquisitor, thanks.”

Peeking over the planter, Fenn took a shot at a roundhead and missed. He hissed in disappointment and sank back down. “No problem. Any reinforcements?”

Shysa shook his head. “None since we got up here. Probably focusing on getting whoever got that warning out.” He looked at him closely. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Fenn grunted, his mouth twisting in amusement and irritation. “Why does everyone think I had something going on here?”

“Maybe because you’ve been acting suspiciously since you got here?” Jorj, the Ordo House Head said. He was crouched behind a chair, checking his blaster’s sights. “That suit of yours ain’t exactly subtle, Rau. Neither is sending a guard away when an Inquisitor decides to start mingling.” Satisfied with his sights, he popped over the arm of the chair and squeezed out a quick burst of shots. Crouching back down, he pinned Fenn with a icy-blue gaze. “Speaking of which — don’t suppose the one you sent away would be able to call in some back-up from outside?”

Fenn resisted the urge to squirm underneath the older man’s gaze. Instead, he busied himself with pulling out his comm and flicking to Jarrus’ channel. 

There was a moment of static, and then — “Rau!” Jarrus’ voice was frantic. “You still alive in there?”

The planter at his back juddered as a set of blasts hit it. Grimacing, Fenn replied. “For now, at least. We’re in the middle of a firefight on the second floor of the ballroom. Did you manage to get out?”

Jarrus grunted. “Roundheads wouldn’t let me. Probably trying to make a clean sweep of things. I’m holed up in one of the washrooms but — Rau, that voice? That was Sabine.”

Fenn paused and raised an eyebrow. “One of the children we were trying to find information on?”

“Children?” Shysa said, thumping back down beside him after letting out a few shots. “You were trying to find information on children?”

Kryze, at another planter behind Ordo, looked at him sharply. “Your nephew?”

Fenn waved them both away with an impatient gesture. “Not the time,” he snapped. “Jarrus?”

He could picture Jarrus shrugging at his words. “She managed to find someone to help her out of her cell. She’s going to need more help to get out of here, though.”

“So do we, Jarrus,” Fenn said, his voice tight. “My own people weren’t allowed to bring fighters. Captain Syndulla’s assistance would be more than appreciated in getting us out of here.”

“Then you’re going to have to help me get her.” Jarrus’ tone made it clear that this was non-negotiable. “I’m not leaving my kid to die.” 

“Jarrus —”

The comm shut of with a sharp crackle. Fenn swore.

Ordo grunted. “So we’re headed to the comms tower, then?” His tone was as dry as the deserts on Mandalore proper. It wasn’t a question.

Fenn questioned it anyways. “We?” 

“We contacted our own people outside. Airspace has been shut down,” Shysa explained. “All of our pilots are busy dodging TIEs. Frankly, we’ll take whoever manages to show up.”

“I’m not sure how well they’ll take that,” Fenn warned, but as he looked around he knew it was useless. Wanted or no, no one here was going to take no for an answer. He sighed. “Fine. But first we’re going to have to get out of here.”

Down below, there was another roar from the Inquisitor. Fenn grimaced. “Before that Inquisitor finishes up down below.”

Shysa matched his grimace. “Agreed.” He peeked over the top of the planter. “I think I’ve spotted the commander. He doesn’t have a pauldron on but the others are taking orders from him. Has a large burn along the top of his helmet, looks like a kad.”

Fenn peered over as well and spotted the roundhead that Shysa was describing. “I see him. We take him out, the others will fall?”

Shysa nodded, but Ordo flat-out laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound. “Bunch of greenhorns. We nearly got through before that one showed up and started organizing them. Guess the Empire didn’t want to risk getting anyone with actual experience killed.”

Thinking about Saxon, Fenn could see it. It would also explain why there weren’t any of his supercommandos in here. Readying his blaster, he was about to turn and start aiming for the the commander when a bolt zipped through the air where his head was about to be. The unmistakable sound of sizzling flesh somehow reached his ears through the chaos and shouts of ‘Commander’.

All three of them looked at Kryze, who was holding out her smoking blaster with an unimpressed look on her face. “Enough with the gossip,” she snapped. “Saxon is trying to kill us, and I for one would prefer to not give him the satisfaction.”

Part of Fenn wanted to bristle, but it was small next to the part that remembered the bark of his formidable instructors. So instead of saying anything, he turned back over planter and got back to shooting at the crumbling line of roundheads.

* * *

Tristan didn’t like this. He didn’t like any of this. Killing the Heads of the Great Houses? It made bile burn in the back of his throat. This was not how things were supposed to be settled in Mandalorian politics. You were supposed to publicly air your disagreements and settle them in duels, not lure your enemies into traps and slaughter them like animals.

Maybe that was why Clan Wren wasn’t a power. That’s what Onyo said, anyways.

The rough-mannered girl, her family so lowly that they couldn’t even be called a clan, was standing beside him now as they both stood at attention, watching Viceroy Saxon rage. The tall, powerfully built man had caught his younger brother Titus by the scruff of his neck and was holding him off the ground so that the younger man’s toes were only just brushing the floor, his face nearly purple with rage. 

“What,” he hissed, a few drops of spittle flying from his lips to land on his brother’s face, “is the use, precisely, of a bomb that needs someone to be at ground zero to set it off? Were you ever going to tell me that you kriffed up so badly or were you hoping that you could somehow fix it at the last possible moment?” He punctuated each sentence with a shake, like some big predator playing with its food. 

Titus, to his credit, was looking far less intimidated than Tristan would have if he was in the other man’s situation. Tugging at his older brother’s hand, he glared at him. “That is not what I said,” he growled, his cheeks flushed, “and you know it, Gar. Now put me down.”

Saxon glared right back and slammed Titus down hard enough that the younger man’s knees buckled, making him stumble. Straightening, he crossed his arms over his barrel-chest and growled, “Then explain yourself.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Titus scowled and straightened as well, mimicking Saxon’s posture but failing at looking even a fraction as intimidating as he did. “Like I was saying,” he said, clearly irritated, “it’s not just one bomb. It’s a series of bombs, wired underneath the main bulk of the building. That was a large area, and before we even began I warned you that there would probably be trouble getting the signal to detonate to all of them at once. I told you that the signal to all of them could be blocked if there were too many other signals going through the channels, but you simply told me to make it work.” He jerked his chin forward aggressively, his eyes flashing. “I did. The comms jammer was working perfectly until your security failed and allowed a rebel in who shut it down!”

“You’re saying that this is my fault?” Saxon said in a dangerously low voice. His hand shot forward again, hauling Titus close until they were nose-to-nose. 

Personally, deep in a private, hidden part of his mind that he rarely acknowledged as existing, he agreed with Saxon. The way Titus was talking, it did sound like he was trying to push all of the blame onto the Viceroy for something that was his fault. The Wren clan was famous for its demolitionists and siege experts, and Tristan had grown up knowing how to create and set explosives. With that knowledge, he knew that Titus had kriffed up royally if the detonation signal could be blocked so easily. He also knew how to fix that.

But. But. Another private, hidden part of his mind resolutely kept his mouth shut about that little fact. The private, hidden part of his mind that remembered his sister, and her sobs as she was dragged back to Mandalore. The private, hidden part that hated the Empire and what it had done to his family.

Titus narrowed his eyes, looking constipated. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose I am.”

Tristan couldn’t keep from flinching as the Viceroy roared and flung his brother to the ground. Squeezing the stock of his rifle, he smothered his discomfort as the man turned towards them.

Only to stop as the comm built into his desk crackled. “Viceroy Saxon! Are you there!”

Saxon turned and walked over to his desk with stiff, angry strides and slapped the comms on. “Report!” he snapped.

“Sir, the delegates have broken through!” the hapless trooper cried, sounding frantic. “They’re in the main building and killing everyone that’s trying to stop them!”

Well, yes, Tristan thought to himself. I mean, we’re trying to kill them. Of course they’re going to kill anyone trying to stop them from getting away, they’re fighting for their lives. 

Saxon seemed to feel the same. “Of course they’re killing you, we’re trying to kill them!” he snapped. “Shoot to kill and get it over with! I don’t want any of them getting out of here alive!”

“Sir, we need back-up —”

“You are supposed to be the best the Empire has to offer,” Saxon growled, his hand hovering over the comms button. “Act like it.” And with that, he switched the call off. 

Titus was slowly and painfully picking himself up off the floor and staring balefully at his brother. “You do realize that we’re supposed to be a part of the Empire too, yes?”

Saxon strode across the room and cuffed him roughly across the face. “I know that perfectly well,” he snapped. “But we have a different target: the wretch that blew our cover.”

Titus’ head snapped to one side and he staggered. As he slowly straightened, he reached up and wiped at his mouth, leaving a red streak across his cheek where the Viceroy’s gauntlet had split his lip. “That ‘wretch’ could be anywhere —”

Saxon sneered. “Hardly,” he said coldly. “I’ve already had one of my people on it. The only way that warning could have come through is if the person was broadcasting from the comms tower itself.” He smiled nastily. “And guess what? There was a fire alarm in the tower ten minutes before the alarm went out, conveniently leaving the control room empty.”

Titus’ eyes glittered. “That doesn’t mean that they haven’t run already. Or have you forgotten that a fire alarm usually involves anyone that could stop an intruder exiting the building as well?”

Saxon glared. “Thankfully, in this case, there was someone with half a brain that questioned the sudden convenience of a fire alarm going off and checked to see if there actually was a fire. They’re holding the base, but we will be needed to sweep the floors. And on that note…”

His head snapped towards Tristan and Onyo. “Wren. Onyo. I’m going to want you two outside of the tower with a squad. Make sure that no one approaches or leaves this building’s airspace.”

Tristan snapped off a salute. “Yes sir.”

“Yes sir,” Onyo echoed.

Satisfied, Saxon turned and began berating his brother once more, ignoring the two of them as they left the office and began trotting down the hallways towards the building’s attached hangar. Keeping his eyes peeled for any of the delegates, Tristan almost missed Onyo’s comment as they passed their third crossroads.

“So, that rebel. She sounded familiar, didn’t she?”

They were coming up to another crossroads. Tristan slowed, turning his head from side to side to check that there weren’t any enemies. These hallways were surprisingly empty as they ran down them; or perhaps it wasn’t that surprising. Most of the troopers here had been assigned to guarding the summit, leaving only a skeleton crew to man the rest of the base. “What do you mean, Onyo?”

The other warrior made a low, irritated noise. “That voice?” she prompted. “The voice that blew the top off of this whole conspiracy? It didn’t sound just a little familiar to you?”

Tristan grimaced underneath his helmet. Looking down the two opposite hallways, he didn’t see anyone coming. “I was a little distracted by the plan being blown to hell to think carefully about whether or not I knew some random rebel,” he said, unable to keep the tightness from his voice.

Everyone in the supercommandos knew about the circumstances behind his joining them. His sister’s traitorous activities, her disappearance — everything. Onyo had never said anything where others had, but if she had been waiting for this sort of opportunity —

“My family is loyal to the Empire,” Tristan bit out. “We have nothing to do with the Rebellion.” And I don’t appreciate your insinuations to the contrary, he added silently.

Onyo grunted behind him, sounding frustrated, and grabbed his shoulder. Spinning him around, she pushed him up against the wall with her arm set across his chest. “You can’t be that stupid, Wren,” she snapped. “I only knew her for a year in the Academy, there’s no way you didn’t recognize her voice.”

His stomach dipped. Was she saying…

No. It couldn’t be.

Reaching up, he pushed her arm away a little harder than he normally would have. “What the kriff are you talking about?” he snapped back. “Why the hell do you think I would recognize a rebel’s voice?”

“Uh, because this rebel’s your sister?” Onyo said mockingly.

Tristan froze. His sister — no, she had disappeared, presumed dead —

Onyo sighed. Slumping, she rubbed the top of her helmet and grumbled irritatedly. “Seriously? You can’t even recognize your own sister’s voice? You really didn’t realize that it was her warning everyone?”

Tristan gripped his rifle tightly and worked his mouth a few times before he managed to answer. “I — my sister disappeared, she didn’t join the rebels —”

Onyo sighed again. Unlike her previous one, though, this one didn’t have an undercurrent of irritation. Reaching out, she put a hand on his shoulder again. “Wren,” she said, “Tristan. You know what happened to your sister. What the Empire did to her. Is it really that hard to think that maybe she joined the Rebels?”

He gripped his rifle even tighter. “We are loyal. She wouldn’t put us — she knows how her joining the Rebels would look, she knows what her tantrum cost us —”

“Tantrum?” The irritation bleeding into anger was back as Onyo stiffened at his words. “Tantrum? If you had actually been here — or hell, taken one second to listen to what she was saying — you’d know that her running away and speaking out against the Empire was no tantrum.” She took a step closer. Her helmet’s visor was completely opaque but her body language communicated what she was feeling perfectly. “It was a kriffing slaughterhouse down on Mandalore. People were being dragged out of their homes and murdered for the high crimes of standing near a rebel at some point!” She punctuated that sentence with a sharp prod to his chest. “Everyone knew that it was wrong, but she was the only person that actually spoke out against it!” She crossed her arms. “I’d be more surprised if it wasn’t her giving the warning.”

Tristan gritted his teeth. He wanted to keep saying that it was lie, but he knew that that itself would be a lie. His sister…his sister with her too-big brain and too-big heart…

“Why are you bringing this up?” he finally forced out. “Is this some sort of loyalty test the viceroy came up with?” He’d done it before, but Tristan had thought that they were past that.

Onyo made a disgusted noise. “Please. I’m not about to do Saxon any favours. Only reason I joined up with the supercommandos was for the pay. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of what he was asking of us.” Turning, she re-settled herself into picture-perfect posture. “Wanted to see if you were as heartless as your buir.”

The last sentence was muttered, but Tristan was close enough to hear it loud and clear. Confusion and uncertainty gave way to rage and he surged after her, grabbing her and slamming her against the wall in an echo of a few minutes ago. “My mother is not heartless!” he snapped. “She made a hard choice to keep the rest of us from being slaughtered!”

The sneer was evident in Onyo’s voice as she replied. “Yeah, she sacrificed one to save the many, I get it.” She batted his arm away. “It’s all very admirable. Doesn’t change the fact that Sabine needed her and she wasn’t there.”

Tristan let her bat the arm away, narrowing his eyes. “Sabine? You were that close?”

Onyo rolled her shoulders and started walking again. “We were roommates. Had the same advanced classes. I kept a few bullies from destroying her stuff.” Her voice lowered. “Saw her falling apart after what the Empire was forcing her to do.”

Tristan bit the inside of his cheek and started walking after her. “…You shouldn’t say that so loud, you know,” he warned. “The walls have ears.”

Onyo simply snorted. “One of his supercommandos talking about an old classmate is far from his main concern right now. It doesn’t matter anymore, anyways. All he’ll be concerned about is us not scrambling some fighters soon.”

Well, Tristan couldn’t argue with that. So they kept moving, the specter of his sister hanging over the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks so much for your kind comments, I'm really glad that the whole mess with Taa and the rest of the Jedi Order is going down so well! I was worried, considering how heavy it is on minor canon characters and OCs. Hopefully, this chapter's gone down well as well, considering all the Mando OCs. Let me know in the comments or on my tumblr at wondersmithofastronautalis.tumblr.com.


	23. Important Announcement

Hello, readers. HLine here with an important message. 

First, just to get it out of the way so that all you lovely people don't have too many heart attacks - no, I'm not abandoning the Children of the Force 'verse. However - this current version of _Every Colour but Red_ will not be being continued.

For all of you that didn't just throw the computer across the room in frustration, swearing to never read my work again, allow me to explain. For a while now, I haven't been happy with the quality of the story that I've been writing. Yes, I have been managing to keep to the schedule, but more and more as I continued writing, I've been struck by the feeling that this story hasn't been anywhere near as good as  _Children of the Force_. It's been unfocused, bouncing between storylines, and not landing the emotional beats or setting up further development as I wanted it too. This culminated after the last update with the realization that I've essentially written the same scene twice and simultaneously failed to set up one of the main fights of the climax, and that I'd rather beat my own head against a brick wall than try and fix that mess. I wasn't even sure of the story's timeline anymore and with trying to end two separate stories I only have thousands of words to go.

So, a rewrite.

The thing is, when I started  _Every Colour but Red_ , I just jumped right in after ending  _Children of the Force_. I figured that since I had pantsed (wrote without a strict plan) most of CotF's climax, I could just do the same with all of ECbR. It turns out that with how I write things, that is a terrible idea. So I have come up with the following schedule, loose as it is:

 **September to October** : * _Planning so that I know what the fuck I'm actually doing_.*

 **November** : Take advantage of Nanowrimo to get a good buffer in the story.

 **December** : Hopefully start posting the rewrite.

I understand that this is extremely frustrating. Doing this in the middle of the story's climax was not my intention, and I'm not happy about it. But I honestly believe that this is for the best, and that by December, I'll be posting a better, more focused story.

Hope I'll be seeing you all then!

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooo everybody! I couldn't wait anymore to start posting! Hope you like this chapter and don't be afraid to let me know - I won't bite.
> 
> I'll be sticking with the same update schedule as last time; every two weeks there will be a new chapter, barring RL. And I hope that you all enjoy this story as much as the last one :)


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